Last One Standing
by Jaenelle Angelline
Summary: Logan, Jubilee and Remy AU. Logan's a horse rancher in the mid 1800's, Jubilee is a Chinese immigrant slave he rescues. FINISHED. Enjoy! Reviews appreciated! Tokyo Fox:
1. Default Chapter

Chapter 1: Water

                "Hey girlie! Water!"

                The young Chinese girl sitting quietly by the water pump hurriedly splashed some water into the waiting bucket and picked it up, dropping the ladle into it before starting to haul it across the intervening space between the pump and the man standing by the railroad tie waiting impatiently for water. The shackles around her ankles clinked as she trudged through the dust, her bare feet raising little puffs as she went toward the call. When she got there, the man grabbed the ladle from the bucket and drank from it, then gestured down the line. "He wants some too." Further down the railroad track, a man waved. Others looked up, saw the bucket of water, and started waving to her.

She looked despairingly at the little bit of water left in the bucket, at the line, then turned and started trudging back to the pump to fill the bucket completely. The chain between her ankles dragged behind her, and the metal collar around her neck chafed at sweaty skin, telling everyone that she was a slave, the property of the Union Railroad. This was her job. All day, every day, trudging back and forth with the heavy water bucket to satisfy the thirst of the other workers, some slaves, some indentured servants, a few free men. The freemen could take breaks. The indentured servants took breaks only when the railroad master said so. Slaves, like her, could not.

She was only fourteen, and a small, skinny fourteen at that, so she couldn't work on the railroad tracks like the others could. Instead, the railmaster had told her she was to wait by the pump with a bucket and ladle, and carry water to anyone who asked for it. She could drink too, but he kept a sharp eye on her to be sure she didn't drink too much.

Not that she would, either. Drinking a lot of water made her need to relieve herself more often, and with the privies out here only for the men, she had to make do. And since there were no convenient bushes to hide behind, that meant intense humiliation as the workers watched her conduct her affairs. She was not going to subject herself to more of that humiliation than she absolutely had to.

She filled the bucket, grasped the handle, and started to carry it down the line. The summer heat beat down on her shoulders mercilessly. Her fair skin was already bright red across her shoulders, and she kept her two heavy braids of long hair pulled forward over her bony shoulders to ease the chafing of the twine on the bad sunburn.

It had rained almost constantly the first couple of weeks they'd been here, outside the town of Jonesboro. She had hated the rain, hated the way it soaked the rags she wore tied around her waist and the man's shirt to translucence, hated the way it made her developing breasts poke out. Several of the men had dared to reach out after they drank her water and felt her up, and the railmaster had even commented on it. "Looks like you're coming along nicely, girlie," he'd said. "Pretty soon you can stop serving water and start serving the men at night." She'd been repulsed and terrified by the idea, and he'd punished her for her reaction. "I own you," he'd told the sobbing teenager when she'd finally lain in the dust at his feet, resistance beaten out of her. "I can tell you to do something, and you have to do it. Do you want me to start ordering you to do it now?" She'd shaken her head, terrified, and he'd laughed, dismissed her with a wave, and walked off.

The rain had been bad because it called attention to her body; the burning sun, however, was worse. It beat down on them all, and while the men could put their shirts on to block the sun's rays, she had no such option. The previous night, when the slaves were shackled to return to the boxcar where they were housed, the thin, worn, threadbare shirt she'd worn for the last six months tore. She'd taken the rags and tied them across her breasts to hide them, but the men had still whooped. She was too afraid of the railmaster, and his whip, to ask him for another shirt. She'd have to wait until one was discarded, and take that.

She missed the shirt, and the rain, as she finally left the last man and walked back to the pump wearily. The chain prevented her from taking large steps; there was only a foot of chain between each ankle. She sat down tiredly next to the pump.

There was a tap on her shoulder, and she looked up. There was a little girl standing there, holding a plate of some kind of gruel. She snatched for the plate eagerly; she was starving. As she ate, the little girl turned to look at the railroad workers, talking to the doll in front of her. "Papa says the railroad is getting close to being completed. Once it's done, Sally, all the stuff we enjoyed back east will start coming out here to Jonesboro. Mama says she'll be glad, then she won't have to make my clothes all the time anymore."

The girl kept an ear tuned to the other child's happy prattle while eyeing the clothes wistfully. Elizabeth Redmond was the daughter of the town's mayor; she was well fed, sheltered from the burning sun not only by the bonnet she wore but also by a large pink parasol. Her mother made her clothes for her. She was wearing one of her prettier dresses today, a dainty white muslin that let air in next to her skin without letting the sun burn it. The water girl wished she had a shirt made of that stuff; it would ease the burn on her skin.

It was a game the two girls played out of necessity. Being the only two young girls in the town, they naturally gravitated toward each other, but Mayor Redmond didn't want his daughter associating with the little slave child. Elizabeth was forbidden to talk to the water girl. She'd found her way around that edict by dragging her beloved doll around with her whenever she came to visit the railroad and to bring the scanty meals her mother made for the hungry child. Of course, meals were served to the people who worked on the railroad, but by the time the little girl could get to the front of the line there was often nothing left. Elizabeth had begged her mother to share some of their food; her mother had grudgingly agreed. She made the gruel out of horse oats; it was unappetizing, but it was food, and sometimes Elizabeth would sneak something else into it: a pinch of sugar, a bite of fruit, or a piece of candy. Small things, but the water girl treasured those little bites of sweetness in her otherwise dreary existence. And Elizabeth would talk about little inconsequential things, but it was better than the curses and jeers the water girl got from the male railroad workers.

"Elizabeth!" came a call, and Elizabeth turned at the call. Her mother was standing at the back door to her house, which was only a few hundred feet from the railroad's construction site. "Is that waif done with the plate? Don't let the plate get broken!"

Wordlessly the water girl placed the plate on the ground and snatched her hand back, as if afraid to touch the white hand that reached down quickly for it. Elizabeth picked up her doll and started toward the house, following her mother's call, and the water girl was left alone again.

The afternoon dragged by slowly. The sun beat down on the girl's bare shoulders relentlessly, and she cried from the pain of the burned skin. She looked longingly at the water; if only she could put some of the water on her shoulders, maybe the pain would ease a little…she dipped her hand into the bucket, pulled it out dripping, and touched her shoulders gently. The cool water felt wonderful. She needed more. She dipped her hand into the bucket again and slathered her shoulders with a cool hand, sighing as the coolness took some of the sting away.

She closed her eyes as trickles of cold water ran down her back, and so didn't see the railmaster turn around where he was standing at the end of the line supervising the slaves who were doing the heaviest work. Angry, he marched up to the small wooden platform around the pump and slapped her bare arm angrily with the butt of his whip. "You're wasting water, girlie!"

She dropped her arm, looking at him with frightened eyes. He slapped her cheek harshly with the whip handle, and she cowered against the pump, dropping her eyes and raising her arms and hands in a defensive gesture. He slapped her arms and hands with the butt of the whip, raising bruises and welts as he berated her. "Stupid, stupid girl! Don't you know water's scarce, and we can't afford to waste it? Look at that. All that water in the bucket that could be used to drink, and you've gone and gotten it dirty with your awful little hands!" He grabbed one of the thin wrists and yanked her forward, away from the pump. When she fell to her knees in front of him, he pressed the backs of her fingers to the wooden platform, stepped on her wrists to be sure her hands wouldn't go anywhere, and slapped at the wet palm with the lash end of the whip. It was a long lash, not meant for use at close range; it didn't cut her, but it made her hands sting with pain. She gasped, but he didn't let her wrists go until he had given each of her hands three stinging slaps with the whip. She curled up on the platform, sobbing, as he started to walk away.

"She needs a shirt!" came an angry voice from somewhere behind her. The girl turned, staring disbelievingly, rubbing eyes still blurred with tears, and saw a man striding up.

She'd never seen him before; he was a short, stocky man wearing dusty boots and chaps, with a faded shirt on top that was half-unbuttoned. He had just dismounted from a tall black stallion and was now stalking toward them, looking upset.

"And who the hell are you?" the railmaster said, grimacing unpleasantly at the stranger.

"Name's Logan. John Logan," the man grunted. "I got the big ranch outside o' town thataways." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder as he stopped beside the water girl and crouched next to her. "Y'okay, kid?"

Staring at him, she nodded slowly. He took her wrists, pulled her hands toward him, and scowled as he saw the red lines across her palm. "It's hot. I seen ya wettin' yer handkerchief in water an' moppin' yer ugly mug with it, so why can't she do the same thing?" Without waiting for the railmaster's permission, the man dipped a handkerchief in the water left at the bottom of the bucket and ran it over the girl's tear- and sweat-streaked face. "Better, kid?" he asked. She nodded, eyes downcast, and he hmmphed as he ran the cool cloth over her palms. The cool water felt good on her hot hands.

He stepped back, looked at her back and shoulders. They were bright red, and badly sunburned. He swore. She was going to be hurting for sure. He sighed and dampened the handkerchief in water again, this time applying the cloth to the shoulders. The girl sighed and closed her eyes as she felt the burning ease.

"Where's yer shirt?" he asked her. She shook her head. The man leaned in and repeated his question in Chinese. She shook her head again. "What's the matter, can't ya talk?"

"Sure she can," the railmaster snapped. "Answer the man's question, girlie!" He drew back his foot and prepared to kick her.

The stranger caught the boot before it could connect, and slapped it down. The girl cowered further as she saw the angry look on the stranger's face as he rose slowly. "Don't kick a girl," Logan spat. "Ever. Didn't yer mama ever teach ya not ta hit girls?" He looked down at the cowering child, snorted. "Here." He took off his vest and unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way, then draped it on the skinny little frame. "It's a little big, but the extra cloth'll just be more protection from the sun." He buttoned the shirt up, watched as the tails hung down almost to the girl's knees, and smiled at the sight as he whistled. The horse trotted up.

"Hey, boy," he said, patting the glossy black neck. Reaching for one of the saddlebags, he took a length of rope from it and tied it around the child's skinny waist, then rolled the sleeves up to the wrists, with their metal cuffs. He studied them. The metal was rough on the inside, its edges not filed, and it was chafing the girl's skin. He could see the sores on the wrists. "See them sores?" he said to the railmaster. "Get 'em looked at." He mounted his horse without another word and rode away.

The railmaster stared after the stranger for a long time, as did the little girl. A call for water broke into both of their thoughts, and the man cuffed her roughly. "Get that water out to the men, girl! You think 'cause some stranger gives you his sweaty old shirt you're queen of the world?" He kicked the water girl over to the bucket. She grabbed it, filled it, and scuttled to the first man as quickly as she could.


	2. John Logan

Chapter 2: John Logan

                John Logan had felt a surge of pity for the little girl when he'd seen her sitting by the pump trying to ease the burn on her bare shoulders. His pity had turned into utter disgust at the way she was being treated. The other slaves that belonged to the railroad were treated better. The men were given food and clothing and medical care so that they could work longer, harder, faster. Apparently they didn't care about the little water girl. She was too thin to be healthy, and he winced at the thought of those sores on her wrists and ankles.

                He tipped his hat to the sheriff leaning indolently against the side of the building marked 'Town Jail', and continued riding down the main street until he saw Hunt's General Store. Dismounting, he tied Dark Star's reins to the hitching post and walked in. "Hey, Hunt," he nodded to the man behind the counter.

                Grant Hunter, also known as Hunt for his skill in hunting the buffalo and other wildlife on the grasslands, nodded back. "Afternoon, Logan," he said before sitting back on his chair.

                Logan went to the wall and started selecting some things he needed back on the ranch. He hadn't been to town in a month. He had most of what he needed; he shot his own meat, grew his own vegetables, made his own food. There were some things, however, that he needed to buy from the store. He didn't like Hunt, never had; he and most of the folks in this town didn't get along. But the store had things he wanted, like coffee, shells for his rifle, flour, salt, and new clothes. Most of the time he was happy wearing Indian clothing; he was on better terms with the Indians than he was with the town folk, and that was just fine with him. But he did need cloth for some things, which was why he'd come to town today. And now he had to replace the shirt he'd just given the kid.

                A thought occurred to him. Maybe Hunt would know something about the kid? Like maybe what she was doing out there, and where her parents were? He sauntered up to the counter with a box of rifle shells, a four-pound sack of flour, a six-pound bag of salt, and five pounds of coffee, and put them down. As Hunt started to total the items up, Logan leaned across the counter. "Hey," he said. "Ain't been in town awhile. What's up with that?" he jerked his thumb out the store window, where he could see a little bit of the railroad between two buildings.

                "They want to get the railroad in here," said Hunt, opening the box of shells and checking to make sure they were all in there. "They're trying to make a railroad that goes all the way back east an' all the way back west. They got people working on the west end of it, and that gang out there are all the way from the east end."

                Logan raised an eyebrow. "They got some slaves workin' on the tracks. They bring 'em all the way from East too?" He tried not to let the disgust he felt at the thought of owning slaves show on his face.

                "Most of them, yeah. Fact is, the only new one they got is that little starveling out there that carries the water. Won't last long, that little Chinese girl. She look like she's gonna drop over dead anytime. Railmaster tried to get Mistress Becky to take her in as one of her girls, but Becky refused. Too young, she said. And with looks like that she's going to put her other girls off work." The man grinned. "Looks like that railmaster keeping his boys off that little piece of baggage too, considering how many of them go over to Becky's for the night. Wonder if he keeps her for himself, or if he lets the slaves use her?"

                "She's too young for that," Logan snapped furiously. "How old is she? Ten? Twelve?"

                "I hear some say she's fourteen, but she don't look like it. But they say the Chinese are normally small people, and every one I ever seen is short, so maybe she is. But hey, she's the only girl in the slaves' boxcar, and the rest of them are all big blacks, so maybe there is a little something going on." He smiled. "I'd love to get between her legs. All young like that. Only," the man snickered, "She got to get a bath first."

                "What's her name?"

                The man shrugged. "Dunno. She doesn't talk. Nobody's ever heard her say a damn word. She cries a lot when she gets her beatings, same as all the other slaves, but she don't talk. Everybody just calls her the 'water girl'."

                "She gets beaten?" Logan gritted his teeth. That skinny, starved, pitiful little girl? Beaten? He'd never thought anyone could be that cruel.

                "She's never gotten a real whipping like the darkies do, but she gets pushed around and punched a lot. Seen her getting kicked around a bit." The man scribbled the total on a piece of paper and pushed it across the counter at Logan. "There's your total. Hey, can you tell me when I can 'spect to see more of the wolf pelts you bring in?"

                "I bring 'em in when they come in," Logan said, fishing around in his pocket for his money. "When they start botherin' my horses, that's when I go huntin'. I figure I'll live an' let live otherwise. They were here first, they got a right to live an' find their own food, same's the rest of us. Any wolf who can figure out how to get into a henhouse is a mighty smart wolf, and I admire that. See ya later, Hunt." He slapped some money on the counter and started carrying his purchases out to his horse. Dark Star held patiently still for him as he loaded the stuff on him and then swung up on the big horse's back. He took a last look behind him as he started to head out of town, in the opposite direction from the railroad, and saw the little figure sitting patiently by the pump wearing his shirt.

                The image persisted in his mind as he made his way across the mile of prairie that separated his ranch from the town. His horses needed plenty of pasture, and he'd also built a corral where he trained his stock.

                He was a horse rancher, although he did keep some other animals around, mainly for eating. A hog and sow, whose litter of piglets every year went to bacon and hams; several cows and a bull for calves, so he could have beef year round; chickens, for eggs and a chicken dinner every now and then.

                The horses, though, were his favorite. He chose his stallions with care, gelding the unsuitable ones each spring and training them to sell. The good stallions he kept and bred to selected mares, choosing both sire and dam for intelligence and speed first, and all else second. His prize stallion, a gray he'd named Storm, was an ugly, thick-necked beast, but he was much smarter than your average horse, and his offspring tended to be the same. Dark Star was the result of breeding between Storm and a chestnut mare simply called Red; he had the intelligence Logan bred for, the speed he wanted, and long, clean limbs that showed the Arabian bloodlines of his old prize mare. Lightning had dropped four foals, including Red, before a barn fire had killed her, but her Arabian lines showed in all of her descendants.  When Dark Star had been born, Logan knew here was the horse he'd wanted all his life; a working partner, but more than that, a friend.

His horses went for a lot of money; he'd taken care not to let anyone know just how much he had stored under the floorboards at home. He'd never sat and counted all of it, but he knew he could buy out the town he'd just left behind and still have some left.

                A little starved slave girl shouldn't cost too much money…

                Angrily he shook the thought out of his head. He lived alone; he didn't need company, let alone a fussy little female. Everything that needed doing around the ranch he could do with his own two hands. He didn't need an annoying little kid tagging along.

                And yet…there had just been an attitude of hopeless despair about her that grated on him. There was only one other girl in town, that little blond child of the Mayor's, what was her name…Bessie? Lizzie? Oh, whatever her name was…and she was about as different from the railroad kid as night was from day. The mayor's kid was well-fed, hair always perfectly curled and wearing the prettiest clothes, always looking like a doll in a shop window. And there was the water girl, with dark braids, dirty rags, skinny and starving…he ground his teeth. Hunt had said she looked like she was going to drop dead anytime; Logan agreed with that assessment. She looked too frail to carry that big bucket. And the memory of the hands, blistered from gripping the handle of the bucket, rough-skinned and red from the abuse she'd taken on her palms, made him angrier.

                As he came up on the gate that led into his property, he saw two Indian ponies wandering around in front of his shanty. One was a sturdy little paint mare; the other, he noted with some surprise, was a tall Appaloosa with a milk-colored mane and tail, a horse that he'd watched being born and had raised himself. He whistled as he dismounted, opened the gate, and led Dark Star into the front corral. The Appaloosa came up, touched noses with Dark Star briefly, and then nickered as he shoved his nose at Logan. Logan grinned as he rubbed the velvety nose. "Hey there, Boy," he said. "Still 'member me, huh?"

                "He will remember you as long as he remembers his lessons," said a gentle voice from the doorway of his cabin that still sounded like it was laughing.

Logan looked up. He knew that voice. "Howdy there, ma'am," he said, taking his hat off to the Indian woman standing on the step. "Ain't seen ya 'round here in a while."

                "We have not seen you in a moon, and my woman wished to see if you were all right," said the tall Indian man who came out of Logan's cabin and stood beside the woman. Logan grinned as he started to unburden Dark Star. The Indian came forward and took the salt, while the woman took the coffee, and Logan left the rest on the ground until he'd gotten Dark Star untacked and sent him off to play with the other horses with a playful smack on the rump. Then he picked up the rest of his stuff and carried it inside.

                Red Doe looked at him in concern as she saw his bare arms. "You are not one of the People," she admonished him, taking off his vest and inspecting the redness on his skin. "You cannot handle the sun as we do, and even for us it is hot today. Why did you not wear a shirt?"

                Logan made shooing motions at her. "I wore a shirt," he said, "But I saw someone who needed it more, so I gave it to her." Again in his mind flashed an image of that skinny little girl.

                "Her? She is female? You had better not tell Spring Flower that, or she will become jealous!" Red Doe smiled.

                Logan sighed. "Spring Flower should _not _be jealous," he said. "She's got any number of male friends ta spend her time with, an' I told her a dozen times I ain't interested in warmin' her bed. An' 'sides, the girl's still too young. She's fourteen, at the most."

                "What, the little white girl in the town?" Red doe frowned. "Why would she need your shirt?"

                "No, not the white girl. There's a Chinese girl in the railroad's slave complement. No one knows where she came from. Nobody knows her name. They put a slave collar on her and they're making her carry water." He briefly described the morning's events to Red Doe and Running Wolf.

                "I do not understand the white man's custom of owning another person," said Running Wolf. "And I do not understand how a child can be said to belong to anyone but their own parents. Where are the child's parents?"

                Logan shrugged. "Dunno. The railroad master don't seem too worried 'bout it, an' the poor kid don't talk, so there ain't much chance I'll find out. Anyway, it ain't my problem." He heard the defensive note in his voice, and wondered if he was trying to convince them or himself.

                "If a child is not being raised properly it is everyone's problem," Red Doe said firmly. "You may not be an elder in their tribe, but you must have some say. If this child can be bought and sold, why do you not trade one of your horses for her, as we trade with you?"

                Logan sighed and spread his arms wide. "Would she really be any better off with me? I live here alone, and I don't got a woman ta look after her. I also only got one room. Where would she sleep? Can she eat what I eat? And I don't know the first thing 'bout raisin' a kid. 'Specially one who can't talk."

                "She will be better off with you than where she is now, from what you have said," Red Doe said firmly. "Think on it, John Logan."

                Logan knew better than to argue with her. Red Doe, like most women, was impossible to argue with. "All right, all right, I'll think 'bout it. Now, are we gonna jaw all day, or are ya gonna sit an' have supper with me?"


	3. The Railmaster

Chapter 3: The Railmaster

                The Railmaster blew on the tin whistle he carried, and everyone working on the tracks sighed a huge sigh of relief as they put their tools down. The workday was over. They took their picks, spades, and mallets, put them into the barrow that held all the tools, and gathered around as the railroad cook brought out his customary huge pot of evening stew. The men jostled each other for the privilege of being the first in line; the ones who lost got to the end unwillingly. By the time they got to the front of the line the stew would be cold.

                The water girl inched close to the men, trying to slip between the press of bodies to get into the front of the line, but found herself jostled and bumped all the way back to the end. She sighed. There wouldn't be anything left this time either. The cook seemed to take special care never to have anything left for her; there would be maybe a spoonful at most in the bottom of the pot when she got up there. She would lick at the plates furtively when she was washing dishes afterward, hoping to appease the hunger that constantly gnawed in her belly, but that never did much. She was so hungry tonight!

                "Uh-uh!" A heavy hand fell on her shoulder as she started to step forward. "Remember the scene you made today? No supper for you tonight, and no breakfast for you tomorrow."

                A small squeak of dismay escaped her lips. She clamped her lips tight, feeling tears well up in her eyes. The gruel Elizabeth had brought had been digested long ago, and it had not been that much either. She was desperately hungry.

                "No food for this one tonight!" The Railmaster barked at the cook. "See that she doesn't lick the plates tonight before she cleans them!" She turned pink.

                Doing dishes was an endless job, made worse by the fact that there were so many plates to clean and she was so hungry. Her stomach growled angrily at her and cramped painfully, and she was almost weeping when she finally put the last stack of tin plates in the cook's wagon. She tied up the flap, went to relieve herself (darkness finally afforded her some privacy) and trudged to the slaves' boxcar.

                It sat at the end of the section of completed track, and as she neared it she saw that the Railmaster was waiting for her. She came to a stop in front of him, eyes cast down to the ground. Usually he would roughly grab her collar, attach the chain to it, and pull her into the car, fastening the chain to an eyebolt on the wooden floor. But tonight he didn't reach for the chain immediately. Instead he looked at her for a long time, not speaking. She didn't dare fidget, but she was wildly wondering if he was going to keep her standing out here all night when he spoke.

                "I was thinking about what the stranger said today," he said. "And I realized I've never heard you speak. I know you can, I've heard you scream when I hit you. Are you just dumb?"

                She didn't answer. She never answered. She had learned that silence was her only safety. If she said nothing, they couldn't hurt her.

                This wasn't the first railroad camp she'd been in. She had memories of being in one similar to this one, as part of a group of Chinese indentured servants. She had worn clothes; dresses that at the time she thought with childish vanity were shabby and unfit to be worn. She had no idea how lucky she had been. And then, before that, a vague memory of a small house somewhere with a lot of trees, a house full of warmth and laughter and love, and people who hugged her and called her 'baby'. She had called them Mama and Papa, and she loved them, and she thought they loved her. And then one day they had simply gone away, and she had never seen them again, never heard from them again. In their place was a gruff older man who had spanked her mercilessly when she refused to stop crying for her mother. She had started crying for her father. Enraged, he'd grabbed a knife, dragged her hair back, and pressed the point of the knife against her tongue, drawing blood, and told her to shut up or he would cut her tongue out. So she had shut up.

Later, when she found herself at the servants' camp, she had seen white men beating other servants when they said something the men didn't like. The then-seven-year-old hadn't understood which words they were being beaten for speaking, and so decided not to say anything at all. They had thought she was a mute, and left her mostly alone from pity or disgust, she didn't know. And she didn't care. As long as they told her what to do and left her alone to do it, she didn't care what they did.

Then a band of hostile Indians had swept through the camp, killing all the soldiers and grown men. She had been the only child in the camp, and had stared at the Indians in terror. They had stopped at the sight of her, asked her something in a language she didn't understand, and again, thinking they would hurt her, she stayed silent, cowering in fear and terror because she was fourteen and she knew she didn't want to die. The Indians had said something else, and then they had taken care of the bodies, made a fire and cooked a lot of food, and told her with gestures that she could eat that until more men came to find out what happened to the servants. So she had subsisted on the food, living in one of the covered wagons until one morning the locomotive carrying the Railmaster and dragging a boxcar full of African male slaves came up the railroad tracks from the east, heading west. Relieved to see people again, she had sighed with relief when she climbed into the boxcar and the locomotive went on.

It was only after the train had stopped here at the end of the finished railroad line and the Railmaster could talk to the smith in Jonesboro did she realize what happened. She had seen the collars, wrist cuffs, and leg shackles on the African men, but hadn't realized that she was going to be expected to wear them too. The smith had fashioned them hurriedly, not taking the time to file the inner edges smooth, and the metal bands had been placed around her neck, wrists, and ankles. She fought like a wildcat, screaming wordlessly, but when the Railmaster placed the locks on the bands she had given up. She waited silently while the chains were placed around the shackles on her ankles, keeping her from running by limiting her movement, then went to the pump when directed to by the Railmaster and took her place. Every day and every night after that she had worn those shackles, every day and every night for three weeks now. And it seemed likely to go on until she dropped dead of hunger and exhaustion.

She kept her eyes cast to the ground and her lips shut. She had learned in her first few days that saying anything in front of this man could earn a beating. She had adopted the eyes-down method some of the other slaves used to avoid getting in trouble; she knew her blue eyes, so unusual in someone of her racial descent, were too expressive and could say what she would not. The most heavily scarred slaves in the boxcar were the ones who held their heads high, who looked into the face of the Railmaster. She had seen the Railmaster flog a man into unconsciousness before, and she lived in terror that someday he might tie her to the town's whipping post and flog her as brutally as he had whipped that man.

"You won't speak? Or you can't speak?" The Railmaster demanded, cupping her chin in his hand. "Look at me girl! You won't speak?" She refused to look up, choosing instead to close her eyes. She felt his hand leave her chin, and she dropped her chin, squeezing her eyes shut. As a result, when he hit her he caught her by surprise.

He didn't use the long bullwhip he usually carried coiled in one hand or coiled on his belt. He struck her with the heavy chain he used to secure her every night. The chain snapped through the air and struck her with a dull thud that knocked her off her feet and left a dark bruise on her lower leg. "I will have an answer, girl! Won't?" he waited for her nod, didn't see one. "Or can't?" she was still stunned by the first blow, and didn't respond. He raised the chain again.

The fourth time he hit her, her stoicism broke, and she screamed in pain as something in her side flared into white-hot agony. She shook her head in agony, and as luck would have it, she had just asked her "Won't?" He assumed the headshake was from her saying she wouldn't speak, and reached down, snapping the chain to her collar. "Ah. So you refuse to speak voluntarily. Well, tomorrow I shall have to see what I can do to change your mind. For tonight, however…" He dragged her across the dirt to one of the hitching posts by the horse corral and fastened the chain to a hook used to tether horses. "You can stay out here tonight with the biting insects. Maybe they can motivate you to speak." He crouched to put his face directly in front of hers. "I want you to hear you speak. Ask me to let you in to sleep. The shirt that stranger gave you will cover your upper body, but it won't do anything for your legs. When you're going mad from the biting you'll talk. My car is right there, I'll hear you." He wrenched her hands away from her throbbing side and tied them roughly behind her back with rope. "You can't defend yourself. Remember, when you ask me to come in, I'll let you in and you can sleep without the insects biting you." He laughed and walked away.

She curled up against the pole, but she couldn't sleep. As he had predicted, the insects came down in droves. He had chained her to the pole in the corner of the corral where they dumped the horse manure, and the smell of rotting feces drew the insects. They stayed because they had a source of fresh blood.

She would not beg. She wouldn't. Fear had crystallized into pure hatred of him, and now she would rather die than ask him for anything. Besides, the pain in her side kept her from drawing a deep enough breath to call his name, and the painful cramping of her empty stomach distracted her further. The biting night insects went away as day broke, and when the Railmaster came out of his car an hour after sunrise to wake the slaves to begin the day's work, she was still curled up against the pole refusing to say a word. He was furious. He yanked the chain roughly off the post and pulled her to her feet. "All right, if discomfort won't work, let's try something a bit more basic. The men can draw their own water today. You'll not touch water until you ask for it. And it's going to be hotter today than yesterday, or so the almanac says, so you should be needing that water real soon." He chained her to a post in the middle of the packed dirt area between the unfinished railroad and the main street of town. She was close enough to the pump for her to smell the water and hear it splashing when the men came for drinks, but not close enough to touch it.

The sun climbed higher. Her legs swelled to twice their normal size from the night insects. Itching from the bites tormented her. She was frantic with thirst as her mouth dried, and she licked at her cracked, bleeding lips for the bit of moisture she could get from her own sweat. It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. She was sweating; the shirt was soaked. She grabbed the collar of the shirt and sucked it dry, but it still wasn't enough.

One of the slaves came up to get water, and he deliberately took a mouthful and swallowed it slowly, staring at her all the while. She yanked on the collar, straining to reach him, but he laughed scornfully.

She suffered and suffered. And, just as she started to open her mouth to call for the railmaster, to beg for water, that she saw Elizabeth coming out with the noon plateful of gruel. She wanted that plate. She needed the water that that gruel was made with. Elizabeth was just holding it out to her when the Railmaster came up. "No food or water until she asks for it," he told the girl. "She doesn't speak because she can't, it's because she's too stubborn to. I'm going to break that out of her today."

Elizabeth's eyes widened as she saw the water girl's anguished look as the plate was taken from her reach, but she had no choice but to obey. She took the plate to the pump, washed the gruel off the plate, and carried it, still dripping, past the water girl. The child froze as she saw a single, clear drop hanging off the end of the plate. With a sudden move, she flew at the other girl, snatching the plate from her and licking the water off it greedily, thirstily. She was so intent she never saw the Railmaster come up behind her.

The first stroke of the whip across her swollen legs caught her by surprise, and she screamed and lunged to the end of her collar chain, trying to avoid the lash. The Railmaster grabbed one of her braids and yanked backward, causing her to lose her grip on the plate. It fell to the hard ground and shattered.

"You've stolen a plate and broken it." The Railmaster's words whirled around in her fevered, water-starved brain. "You know what the penalty for stealing is, right?" he unhooked her collar from the pole and untied her hands, seizing her wrist firmly, and began to drag her into town, into the square, where the dreaded whipping post sat embedded in the ground.

The water girl struggled, fighting him, screaming incoherently in terror, her bravado gone. The penalty for stealing was ten lashes. She would never survive it. He dragged her inexorably into the town square, and the townsfolk gathered around after him. She would not be able to escape that knot of people around her even if she wanted to.

The ring at the top of the post was set at a man's height, too high for a skinny little waif. The Railmaster actually had to lift her off her feet to tie her wrists to the post. Then he reached for his belt knife and cut the back of the shirt open, baring her back. Her chest was pressed against the rough wood, and the pressure on her wrists was terrible from the weight of her body hanging from it. She screamed in terror, her feet flailing, trying vainly to find solid ground. She couldn't see it, but her toes were a foot off the dust at the base of the whipping post.

"Now," the Railmaster said, "I'll make you talk. You'll beg me to stop!" He uncoiled the whip, twitched it back, and brought it forward in a full overhand stroke. The lash hissed through the air and bit into the exposed flesh of the child's still badly sunburned back.

The girl screamed in sheer agony. She had never been whipped like this before. The few times his whip had touched her body it had been close enough that it didn't hurt as badly. Now at the far end of the whip, she hung by her purple, numb hands and screamed.

Elizabeth screamed too, in horror and terror, and ran home. Seconds later her mother looked out, saw the slave girl hanging from the whipping post, and firmly closed the door and went to comfort her sobbing daughter. Outside, the whipping went on.

The Railmaster waited until the pain from the first lash subsided before striking the child again. Again she went through a frenzied dance of pain, ignoring the splinters going through the fabric to prick her skin. "STOP!" the girl finally screamed at the top of her lungs, her toes scrabbling frantically against the post. Trying to get enough air into her lungs to scream from her hanging position was a torture all in its own. "Stop, oh God, you're killing me!" and she screamed again as the lash hissed down for the third time.


	4. Rescue

Chapter 4: Rescue

                Logan was sill some distance from the town when he heard the screaming. Sounded like it was coming from the center of town, he thought as he squinted, trying to see through the dust and past the milling people. But they were too high-pitched to be a man, or even a woman. And there was only one girl in the town…

                The agonized, helpless scream came again as he spurred his horse on. Dark Star, already winded by the canter Logan had urged him into to get to town faster, nevertheless responded to the feeling of urgency and broke into a ground-eating lope. Logan swung himself from the saddle even as he was giving the horse the command to halt, and barreled into the crowd, shoving people out of his way. He came to a stop at the edge of the circle of people around the whipping post and stared in horror.

                The water girl was hanging by her hands from the ring on the whipping post, being too short to reach it standing. Her back was bared to the Railmaster's whip, the skin already sporting five long red bleeding slashes. Blood streaked her back, and she was screaming in agony. And she was begging. "Stop," she was gasping, panting. "Please, stop, you'll kill me, you're hurting me! Please!"

                The railmaster grinned. "So, we know you can speak now," he said. "Pain loosens a tongue wonderfully, huh? So if I want an answer I'll have to beat it out of you, is that it? All right, what's your name?" He drew the whip back, the lash snaking like a living thing across the dust as he prepared to strike again.

                The whip was suddenly yanked out of his hand. He turned and saw the stranger from yesterday, the horse rancher, holding the whip. "Give that back!" he snarled.

                "Why? So ya can hit a poor, defenseless little girl with it again?" The square was silent. The child had stopped screaming. No one dared breathe. They didn't know a lot about the rancher outside their town, but he was pulling his belt knife from its sheath at his hip, and he looked quite ready to commit murder with it.

                Logan grabbed the Railmaster's collar in one fist and brought his knife up in the other hand. "Want me ta make ya scream like yer doin' her?" he snarled in fury. "So what if she don't wanna talk? Too many people talk in this world anyway, not enough listen. Like you. Ya wasn't listenin' when she begged ya ta stop. So let's see how well ya listen when I talk." His voice became low, dangerous, even. "I came here ta buy that slave offa you, an' that's what I'm gonna do. She's a little bit of a thing, ain't worth much, an' now ya gone an' scarred her up. I'm givin' ya one penny fer her, an' ya better take it, or I'm gonna get real upset. An' ya ain't gonna like it when I get upset." The knife came a little closer to the man's face. "I shouldn't even be givin' ya a single red cent fer her. She ain't yers. She ain't nobody's, 'cept maybe her parents, wherever they are."

                "I-I-I accept," the man stammered hastily. Logan dropped the man, never letting go of the knife, and dug into his pocket, coming up with a penny. He threw it onto the ground in front of the man. "Git goin'. I never, ever, wanna see ya anywhere close ta her again. If I find ya anywhere close ta her, they'll find yer body in pieces. Got me?" He turned his back on the trembling man and walked up to the whipping post.

                Up close, he could see there was a lot more wrong with her than there had been yesterday. Her legs were grossly swollen and covered with small dots of blood; her wrists were streaming blood where the ropes were biting into her flesh. Her lips were dry and cracked, and bleeding. There was blood trickling from the corner of her mouth where she had bitten her tongue in agony. The rags of shirt covering her chest were a mess, and splinters had been driven into the tender flesh and skin rubbed raw. And her back…oh her back. Logan wanted to cry. How far would the man have gone if Logan hadn't stopped him? How many times would he have hit her? Would he have killed her?

                Then he realized the girl was hanging limply, and her chest wasn't rising or falling. Panic seized him. Was she dead? Had the Railmaster killed her? He grabbed her around the waist with one arm, reaching up with the knife he still held and slicing cleanly through the rope binding her hands. She fell limply to the ground, only slightly eased by his grip on her. "Where the hell's the damn doctor!?" he shouted angrily at the watching crowd. "Get the damn doctor!" he patted the bruised cheek. "C'mon, girl, yer free now. Don't die on me. Ya gotta live ta enjoy that freedom. C'mon." He checked her chest frantically. Still no movement. He balled his fist and brought it down on the thin, bony chest. "Come on, girl! Wake up!" He slapped her cheek gently, then took her shoulders and shook her.

                She came awake screaming. "Please don't hurt me anymore please don't hurt me I'll say whatever you want me to say just please..." and she started to cry, harsh racking sobs that hurt just to listen to them. It hurt her too; she curled over on her side and pressed her hands to her side, and only then did he see the huge bruise mottling the skin. "Oh God," he breathed. If it hurt that much, and with that big a bruise, her ribs might have broken. He looked around wildly. "Where's the damn doctor!" he hollered.

                "I am afraid I cannot help,' said a quiet voice from behind him somewhere. "I am forbidden to practice on slaves."

                "I'm freein' her, damnit! She's a free girl soon's I can get these things off her!" he tugged at the metal bands locked around the emaciated limbs, and cursed when he couldn't get them off.

                "I do not practice on slaves." And that was all. Logan felt a surge of hatred for these narrow-minded, hard-hearted folk who could watch a child being tortured and do nothing, and his face was a terrible mask of anger as he gathered the broken, bleeding body in his arms and stood up. Her head lolled limply, and her breathing was harsh and labored. "Get the hell outta my way, then, I'll take care o' her myself!" The crowd parted to let him through, and he strode to Dark Star. "Come on, boy," he said. "Steady now. Easy." The horse snorted, not liking the smell of blood so close, but trusting in Logan to not let anything hurt him. Logan looked at the saddle. It would be quicker to get her back to his cabin if he rode Dark Star and carried her on the saddle in front of him, but it would jar her terribly. He could save her pain, put her on the horse, and walk leading the horse, but that would mean walking an hour. He decided on expediency and set her astride the horse, and she sagged forward until her head rested on the horse's mane. Once she was settled, he mounted as carefully as possible. She gave a weak cry, but seemed to realize he was trying to help her, and tried to suppress her cries of pain as he urged Dark Star into a smooth canter.

                Dark Star sensed the urgency, and got back to the cabin in almost record time. Logan dismounted in front of his cabin, pulled the child as gently as he could off the horse, carried her into the cabin and laid her on her side on his own cot. "Let me untack him, and I'll be right back," he said. She nodded weakly and closed her eyes, trying to control her sobbing. He hurried outside, untacked the horse, and gave him a quick pat. He shouldn't let the horse go still wet from a hard ride, but right now he was too concerned about the battered child inside the cabin. He stopped off in the shed behind his cabin long enough to stow the gear and grab a few bunches of herbs from the walls, and returned to the house.

                She was lying exactly the way he'd left her. She was terribly still, and only the rise and fall of her thin chest showed she was still alive. He supposed he should feel uneasy about seeing a girl undressed, but his concern for her overrode any modest pretensions. Unable to spare the time to go to the well for water, he popped the willow bark into his mouth and chewed, grimacing at the taste, until it was a soft pulp in his mouth. He carefully spit the juice into his hand along with the pulp, then said, "Here…I have to put this on your back…can you lie on your stomach?" she whimpered in agony as she rolled over, but it got her onto her chest, and he proceeded to pack the pulp onto the raw, still-bleeding cuts on her back. In moments its anesthetic qualities took effect, and she gave a soft sigh as the pain eased. She raised her head, trying to look at him. "No, no, stay down there," he said. "Can ya stay still while I get ya some water?" she nodded carefully and laid her head back down. He ran out to the covered well behind the house and feverishly dipped a full bucket out of it. He returned to the house, ladled some water into a tin cup, and pushed a hollow reed into it. "Here," he said, returning to her. "Sip from the reed. Don't get up." She placed her lips on the reed and sucked avidly. "Not too fast, now," he said. "Drink too fast, ya get cramps. How long have you been without water?" and then he swore aloud. "Stupid me, I forgot ya don't talk."

                "All night," came a soft whisper from a throat raw from screaming. "And all day."

                Logan cursed in anger. She withdrew into herself, managing to shrink into herself and look visibly smaller without actually moving an inch. He stopped cursing when he realized he was scaring her. "It's okay," he said. "It's okay. I won't hurt ya." Still she didn't look up. She might lie here because she was physically incapable of going anywhere, but she didn't trust him. That was okay. Trust could come later. In fact, he didn't blame her for her lack of trust. He should have obeyed his impulse and bought her yesterday; this would never have happened if he had. He brewed some tea out of more willow bark, and set that in a pot hung over his fire to steep while he sorted through his collection of herbs, trying to decide which ones would help her most. He finally gave up; almost all of what he had was for horses that had to be given orally, and he really didn't think she would get any further along in trusting him if he dosed her with horse medicines and they made her sicker. He sighed. There was only one other thing to do.

                He took the tea from the fire, poured it into the cup, and dropped the hollow reed into it again. "Drink this," he said. 'It'll numb ya a bit, ease yer pain. Ya should go to sleep. While yer sleepin', I'm gonna get someone who can help, okay?" She withdrew into herself again, and he shook his head. "No, not someone from town. A wise man I know, who knows more 'bout medicines'n I do." She slowly pursed her lips around the straw and drank the cup dry. He hadn't had time to sweeten it, but he didn't think she was aware enough of the taste to care. He sat beside her as her eyelids fluttered, and then closed.

                He flew out of his cabin, whistling for Storm. The horse came flying across the broad meadow, then snorted and skidded to a stop as he saw the bridle in Logan's hand. His ears flattened to his head. Logan approached the horse, who stiffly bent his head to sniff Logan's palm. "No sugar this time, boy," he said. "I promise, when we get back, I'll give ya two lumps. Right now I have ta get ta Running Wolf's camp as fast as I can, and yer the fastest horse I got. Temperamental, but yer the fastest I got. Will ya carry me?" the horse backed up, stiff-legged, but when Logan pursued him, still talking softly, he let Logan slip the bridle over his head. Logan led him to the gate, opened it, led him through and closed it, then took a flying leap onto the bare back. "We got an awful hurt little girl back there," he said into the cocked gray ear. "Get us to Running Wolf's camp as fast as you can." The horse took off.

                The Indian camp was only a mile and a half away, and Logan knew at Storm's speed they would get there in twenty minutes, but those twenty minutes were the longest of his life as he thought about the child lying in his bed back at the cabin. Had he given her enough to keep her out while he was gone? If she woke up and needed something, would she try to get it herself? Or had he given her too much, and sent her into a deep sleep from which she would never wake up? Thoughts pounded through his head as fast as the ground under Storm's hooves.

                Finally he saw the camp up ahead. He rode Storm hard right into the middle of it, scattering children and women before him, and reined Storm in to an abrupt stop right in front of Running Wolf's tipi. "Running Wolf!" he called. "Running Wolf, old friend, I need yer help!"

                The tent flap opened. "What is it, my friend?" the man said, alarmed when he saw Logan bareback on the horse he used only in emergencies.

                "The child, the one I spoke of yesterday! She's hurt bad, back at my cabin! I need yer knowledge o' medicines, old friend!"

                The flap closed, and moments later Red Doe came out carrying her medicine pack, then Running Wolf followed her with his medicine bag. Both of them whistled for their horses, then slipped hackamores around the horses' heads and swung astride bareback without so much as letting a hair fall out of place or missing a beat. At any other time Logan would have admired their coordination, speed and grace, but right now he was too worried about the child. As soon as both were mounted all three horses took off. Storm laid his ears back and snapped a little at being asked to run again, but when Running Wolf and Red Doe's horses started to gallop, he joined them too, as if trying to prove he was a better horse than they. He was so good that when Logan finally reached home and swung the gate open, Running Wolf and Red Doe were still a couple of lengths behind. He slipped the bridle off the horse and patted Storm on the rump, then burst into the cabin. Seconds later Running Wolf and Red Doe did too.


	5. Slave 87264

Chapter 5: 87264

                Red Doe touched the girl's hand gently. For a moment the eyes didn't open, and Logan sucked in a breath of panic, but then they did open, and he sighed in relief.

                She stared at Red Doe, at the Indian clothing she wore and then at Running Wolf's aquiline features, and began to shrink into herself, whimpering wildly. Logan hurried to her, distressed by her apparent terror. The child was afraid of the Indians.

                "It's okay, kid, it's okay, they'll help make ya feel better. Settle down, now." He felt awkward. What did people say to kids when they were scared?

                To his complete astonishment the child reached one thin grimy hand up to his, groping blindly for his hand. He slipped his hand under hers, letting her feel the solid strength of his own flesh and bones, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze. She gave him a faint squeeze back, and relaxed. Logan nodded to Red Doe. "Go on."

                Red Doe carefully pushed aside the now caked willow bark pulp and examined the whip lashes. Running Wolf handed her a cloth soaked in water, and she cleaned the grimy, dirty back with gentle fingers.  She held a soft, whispered conversation with Running Wolf, and then the medicine man went to the table where he had dropped their bags and took out various packets of powders and herbs. Logan ignored them, content to let them work while he tried to comfort and quiet the child.

                Red Doe spoke softly to Logan in her language, keeping her tone mild so as not to alarm the girl. "The white man calls us savages. What should he call himself, then, who can do this to a child?" Despite the tone, her words were angry.

                Logan sighed and spoke in the Indian tongue. "I dunno. I'm as angry as you are, if not more. He tied her to the whippin' post in the middle o' town, an' everybody was just standin' round, watchin'. Nobody was tryin' ta help her or nothin'." He too, kept his tone quiet.

                Red Doe placed a gentle hand on the child's other arm. "I need to check your side, child," she said quietly. "This might hurt, but I will do my best to keep it quick. Can you hold on?" The child gave a brief nod, then gritted her teeth as Red Doe touched the giant black bruise on her right ribs.

                The child gasped in anguish, her head going all the way back on her neck. Her eyes screwed shut, and tears trickled down her bruised cheeks. Logan winced at the girl's obvious pain, and took her other hand as he sat down on the floor next to the low cot. "Squeeze my hand, darlin'," he said anxiously. "It might help." As Red Doe probed the swelling again, the child squeezed his hand.

                When Red Doe pulled her hands back, Running Wolf appeared at her elbow with a questioning look. "The bone is not broken, but it is badly bruised. She is in great pain. John Logan, have you any of the white man's fire water?"

                Logan blinked. "Ya wanna give her whiskey?" he let go of the limp hand and went to a high cabinet, taking down a bottle of the stuff and pouring some into a tin cup. He dunked the reed into it and held it close to the girl. She took the end between her lips and sucked up through the reed.

                And then her face turned an alarming shade of red and she choked. Logan grinned a little as she spluttered. "I know, tastes awful, don't it, but it'll take the edge offa the pain," he said to her. She lifted her eyes to his, and he almost forgot to breathe.

                Blue. Her eyes were the most incredible shade of summer-sky blue. He had never looked at her full in the face, and so had never seen her eyes. His heart almost stopped.

                Red Doe looked into the child's face, and caught a glimpse of those brilliant eyes before the child lowered her lashes again. Her voice was soft. "Her eyes are the same color as the blue stones we use for decoration," she said, fingering the polished turquoise that hung from a thong around her neck. "Truly a special child. Only a child touched by the Great Spirit would have such eyes. No wonder she does not speak." Her hands gently stroked back a strand of lank, dirty hair from the sunburned shoulder as Running Wolf handed her a thick paste in the bottom of one of Logan's pots. He wrinkled his nose at the rank smell, but made no protest. Some of the best horse medicines he had smelled like day-old meat that had been left in the hot sun. Human medicines probably smelled just as bad.

                Red Doe began to sing quietly in Cherokee as she slathered the paste onto the red shoulders and on the cut back. The child laid her bruised cheek on the pillow and closed her eyes as the soft, rhythmic singing went on. When Red Doe finished applying the paste, the combination of song, gentle hands, soft bed, and surcease from pain had lulled the child to sleep.

Keeping his voice low, Logan told Red Doe that something seemed to be wrong with the child's legs, and the woman switched her attention to the legs. She shook her head over the insect bites, set another pot of herbs to brew while she cleaned the dirt and grime off the thin, stick-like limbs. When the concoction was done she skimmed the thick oily stuff from the surface of the pot and put it in an empty jar. "There," she said. "That will help with the swelling and itching." She dipped her fingers into the ointment and dabbed it on the child's leg, then rubbed it gently into the flesh, stroking carefully over the bruises. "Apply it like this, rubbing it into the skin in one direction only, from the top of the leg down to the foot. Whenever it begins to itch more should be applied. You will have to do this for now, but in two suns when the cuts on her back have crusted, she can sit up and do it for herself." Red Doe and Running Wolf each took a pot and went outside. Curious, Logan followed them.

They headed down to the small stream he used for washing and began to clean his cooking utensils. Red Doe pointed to a plant growing near the bank of the stream. "Do you see that? When she awakens pick some of those and give that to her to eat. The leaves must be fresh; dried, they will not work as well. But it will ease her pain." She turned her attention to the pot she was scrubbing as her voice softened. "She has no clothing. We have some white woman's clothing at the village that our children play with. When I return tomorrow I shall bring some with me. I do not think you are overly eager to return to the town to purchase clothing for her."

"I ain't goin' ta return ta the town fer nothin'," Logan growled, free to unleash his anger now that they were outside and he wouldn't startle the girl. "I'm goin' ta start goin' to Jackson fer stuff I need. They ain't never goin' to see me again."

The child was still asleep when Red Doe and Running Wolf left, Red Doe promising to come the next day to check the child's condition. Logan walked back into his tiny cabin and checked on her. She was still asleep. She looked almost angelic, her face still and serene in the light coming from the dancing flames in his fireplace. He turned and surveyed his cabin.

He was a bachelor; he lived alone. With no woman around to nag at him about where he put his things, he simply left things where he wanted to and picked them up when he needed them. But with the child around, he couldn't do that. Let's see, he would need to make a bed for her, and would have to figure out where to put it. And he would need another chest for her woman's clothes. What else did a woman need? He had visited the minister and his wife in town on a few occasions; and got a vague impression of chests full of clothes and shoes and feminine fripperies. Would this child need that? He supposed she would.

He spent a great deal of time picking up and putting his things back where they were supposed to go. He picked up the pieces of dirty clothing and put them in a pile, to wash the next day; other things he put back in his chest. Afterward he did some rearranging, still trying to be quiet and not wake the sleeping girl. When he finally finished, one entire corner of his cabin was bare. He took his axe and went to the big stand of willows by the creek.

There was a full moon out, and it illuminated the prairie as bright as if it were noon. He set to work, cutting branches and stripping them of their leaves, then dropped them into the stream to soak. By tomorrow they would be supple enough for him to weave into a flat platform.

He took a scythe to a stand of tall grass he'd kept his eye on for most of the summer, cultivating it carefully so it would grow tall and full. He cut it all off now, close to the roots, leaving long strands. He gathered them up, took them to the back door, and spread them out on his back stoop, spreading them out. When they were dry in a few days, he'd stuff them into an old horse feed sack and put that on top of the sleeping platform. It would provide a soft, sweet-smelling cushion between her little body and the woven willow withes.

He checked the horses one last time, gave Storm the two lumps of sugar he'd promised the big gray, and rubbed the last of the dried sweat off Dark Star. Then he went back into the cabin, too tired to think of anything else he had to do, and flung himself down on a blanket beside the hearth. In a matter of moments he was asleep.

                She woke slowly.

                Her body hurt all over. She bit her lip to suppress her moans of pain, as was her usual habit; and started to push against the hard boxcar floor to sit up. And froze.

                The surface under her throbbing palm wasn't the hard wooden boxcar floor, but something cloth-covered, and soft. Her eyes flew open. She didn't see the dim, dark, interior of the boxcar, with its rusted walls; what she saw, instead, were wooden log walls, the chinks filled in with mud hardened to the consistency of stone. The ceiling was the same, sloping up from the top of the walls on either side to a peak above her head. The floor was the same, wooden boards sanded smooth so there were no splinters. She was lying on a cloth-covered burlap sack stuffed with sweet-smelling sun-dried grasses, and a pillow under her cheek made of a cloth flour sack with what felt like more grass inside it.

                It all came back to her, then, the events of the other day. The Railmaster's whipping, passing out, and being woken by the stranger who had helped her before. And this time he had taken her and put her on his horse, and ridden away with her like some fairy tale she had heard long ago and now forgotten. The Indian woman had done something to her that hurt a little and helped a lot, and then the stranger had given her something to drink that tasted vile but had put her to sleep. He was asleep too, lying on a blanket by the hearth.

                Her back throbbed; she hurt, but more than that, she desperately had to relieve herself, and she was thirsty. She sat up as quietly as possible, put her feet on the floor and tried to shuffle to the door. At the first clink of her chained ankles on the polished floor the man woke. She kept an eye on him as he sat up. He had done nothing but try to help her so far, but he might turn and hurt her at any time. Men were dangerous like that.

                Logan blinked as he saw the child standing warily by the bed. As he sat up, she tensed, but didn't try to flee. "Good mornin'," he said, his voice pleasant and friendly. "Ya shouldn't be up yet, y'know. Red Doe tol' me ya shouldn't get up fer two days, at least." He grinned at her. "Guess ya follow orders 'bout as well as I follow 'em." He stood and looked at her. "So where was ya plannin' on goin'? Ya ain't goin' back ta town. Ya don't belong there no more."

                Her eyes widened, and she fixed those turquoise eyes on him again. Then her feet shuffled, the chain between them clinking, and he recognized it as the age-old sign for a need to heed the call of nature. He grinned and opened the back door. "See that little buildin' there? That's an outhouse. I built it to accommodate the Indian women as well as me, so yer welcome ta use it." She headed for the outhouse, without delay as without comment. He watched her go, her ankle chains dragging on the ground, and shook his head. Next thing was to get those things off her legs and arms. And neck.

                He hunted out the tool he used to cut metal and waited for her to come back. As he expected, she did come back. It never occurred to her to run, not that she could, with those damn metal shackles rubbing her skin painfully with each little movement.

                Her eyes widened as she stepped in and saw him holding his metal cutter, and stopped dead. He shook his head. "I ain't gonna hurt ya, kid. I wanna see if I can take those damn things off yer legs and arms and neck. Yer a free girl now; I bought ya from that Railmaster yesterday. I ain't goin' ta wait ta get no stinkin' papers that says yer free 'fore I get those things off ya." Her eyes widened.

                "Yeah, yer free," he said as he sat her down on the single chair and started examining the locks on the metal shackles. "I seen the Railmaster whippin' ya yesterday, heard ya screamin' fer him ta stop, an' when he didn't I lost my temper. Wasn't nobody going to do nothin' else." He swore. "Yer so skinny, I can get the jaws of the cutter under the cuff between yer skin an' the metal, but I'm gonna haveta exert some pressure ta cut through the damn thick metal. It's gonna hurt some, darlin', but I promise I'll do it quick." She nodded, pressed her left elbow to the table and held it there with her right hand, keeping it still as he slid the lower jaw of the cutter under the shackle. He tried not to touch any of the raw, oozing sores under the metal, but he couldn't help it, and the tears in her eyes hurt him as much as he was hurting her.

                It took all his strength to do it, but finally the cuff fell away from her wrist in two pieces, one on each side where he'd cut it. He stepped close, grabbed the hateful metal pieces, and flung it in a corner where he had a basket of scrap metal to take back to the smith in town. He'd struck a deal with the man; when Logan needed new bits for a bridle, he'd bring in the metal, and the smith would melt the scrap and make the bit. That way it didn't take any of his stores of raw metal, and Logan didn't have to pay for anything but the work and the time. Well, maybe the smith in Jackson would strike the same deal, because Logan sure as hell wasn't going back to Jonesboro.

                He did the same to the shackle around the other wrist, and around the child's ankles. As he hefted the ankle shackles with their connecting chain, he was surprised at how much it weighed. A good couple of pounds at least, far heavier than a child should have to wear. He studied the raw sores around each limb, and winced. They were going to leave permanent scars. He tugged on her braids, pulling the straggling ends of her hair away from the collar as he studied it.

                There were words cut into the metal. 'Property of the Union Railroad', it read. 'Slave 87264'. Logan bit back the expletive that threatened to slip past his lips and placed the cutter squarely in the middle of the word 'slave'. She was _his_ girl now. She wasn't nobody's slave.


	6. Woundfever

Chapter 6: Wound-Fever

                He didn't say another word until they were sitting on the bank of the stream in the warm morning sunshine. After cutting the bands off her, he'd grabbed an old shirt and taken her down to the creek. Tearing the shirt into rags, he dampened them in water and wrapped them firmly but loosely around the raw places on her wrists and ankles. Then he'd taken the opportunity to use more of the wet cloth to wash her legs and arms until she was as clean as she could get without using soap.

He picked the leaves Red Doe had told him to give her, and told her to eat them to ease her pain. The speed with which she'd done so told him she was in some serious pain. That had reminded him of something else, and he returned to the cabin for the jar of ointment, which he was now smearing on her legs.

"I heard ya talk," he said quietly. It was something he'd have to bring up sooner or later. Ya begged that Railmaster ta leave ya alone, and he said he figured if he wanted a question answered from ya he'd have ta beat it outta you." He saw fear return to cloud those pretty blue eyes, and he sighed. "No, I ain't gonna do that to ya. There's too many people in this world do too much talkin' an' not 'nuff listenin', an' findin' somebody who'll listen is a rare thing. I ain't gonna try an' make ya talk. If ya got somethin' needs sayin', you'll say it. I think ya say plenty with them pretty eyes o' yers. So the only thing I'm askin' is this. If ya don't wanna talk, don't. But I can't tell what yer thinkin' if ya don't look at me. Will ya look up more often? Now that yer a free girl, ya got a right ta hold yer head up." She looked at him thoughtfully with those extraordinary eyes, and suddenly smiled. Even with the bruises on her face and her extreme thinness, she was pretty when she smiled, and he smiled back.

"Now, the other thing I gotta talk ta ya 'bout is what I'm gonna call ya. They said back in the town they didn't know yer name so they called ya the 'water girl' all the time. I ain't gonna call ya that. That damn collar ya wore said you was 'Slave number 87264'. I'll be damned if I'm callin' ya that either. If I want ya, I'll say 'kid'. Ain't the most elegant, but it'll do."

Her voice, when she spoke, was so soft he almost didn't hear her. "Jubilee."

"Huh?" He stared at her. She swallowed hard, her eyes big. Sensing she'd be more comfortable if he wasn't staring at her, he allowed his eyes to drop back to the skinny leg in front of him. His hands resumed rubbing the ointment into the skin. "What did ya say? My ol' ears ain't what they used ta be."

She cleared her throat. "Jubilee. Mama and Papa called me Jubilee."

Logan frowned. "What kind of name is that for a kid?"

"Mama and Papa said they came from a land really far away, over the ocean and across a lot of land. Said they left there because they weren't happy there anymore, and they wanted to start over. When they got to America they were so happy to be here they named their new baby Jubilation. My last name's Lee. So." She shrugged. "Jubilee."

Logan was about to scoff when he remembered that smile. She was a pretty girl when she smiled. Jubilee. Maybe, with a lot of luck and some care, she'd become a jubilant child. "Ah. Well. Probably been a while since anyone said yer name. Jubilee." And then, curious, he asked, "What happened to them?"

She fidgeted. "Mr. Shiomo, who took me after my parents vanished, told me they died. I don't know. I just…saw them one day, and never saw them again." She paused there, but just as Logan decided she was done talking, she said softly, "I came to stay with him when I was five. I kept calling for mama, but she never came. Mr. Shiomo grabbed a knife and told me to shut up, that they were dead and I would never see them again, and if he heard one more word out of me he would cut my tongue out." She shuddered. "He grabbed a knife. I was scared he'd actually cut it out, so I stopped talking. And then when he indentured himself to pay his debts he took me with him. We lived in a camp of indentured servants. I saw people getting beaten for talking. I couldn't understand what they said that was so wrong. So I just didn't say a word. They couldn't put words in my mouth if I didn't say anything." She picked another leaf from the plant and ate it.

Logan flinched when he heard that. What kind of person would threaten to maim a five-year old? "How long were you in the servants' camp?"

"Seven years. Two months ago a band of Indians went through our camp and killed everyone. I got scared, but they didn't kill me. They looked sorry for me and they cooked a lot of food for me. They left me at the servants camp with food until the Railmaster came through and picked me up."

Logan couldn't think of anything to say. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "I'm sorry. No wonder ya don't wanna talk." He sighed. "If yer ready, we can go and get somethin' ta eat. I know yer hungry." She nodded and got up carefully. Logan had used more strips of the old shirt to bind the poultice on her back close to her skin, then gave her another of his shirts to her to wear. He had plenty; when a shirt got too old to wear he kept them for rags to use on the horses.

He checked the underground cellar where he stored his food, and came up with a rabbit and some root vegetables. "Here," he said. "We can make a stew with this." He took the rabbit outside to skin it and de-bone it, and when he came back in he saw the girl peeling the roots and cutting them into bite-size pieces. He grinned. "Y'know how ta cook?"

She nodded. "Helped with the cooking at the servants camp," she said, and returned to what she was doing. He smiled and put the rabbit meat on to stew. He added the vegetables, seasoned it, and let it simmer for a while, then ladled it into bowls for himself and the girl, and sat down on the bed to eat as he insisted she take the chair. Normally he'd sit outside, on the ground to eat, but she had no shoes, and her legs were still slick with ointment.

She dug into the stew as though she was starving, and he watched her eat with interest. She ate carefully, never spilling a single drop of liquid or missing a piece of vegetable or meat. When she was done he gestured to the pot. "Have more if you like." She did.

He was on his second bowl and she was on her third when he heard the sound of hoof beats outside, and seconds later came a polite tap on the door. Red Doe stood there, holding two large bundles and smiling. "Well, I guess it was asking too much for a child to stay in bed," she said. "Hello, small one. How are you feeling?"

Jubilee had retreated behind Logan's solid, comforting back at the first sign of a stranger, and didn't say a word. Logan sighed. So, she trusted him, but no one else. He'd have to teach her who could be trusted and who could not. "Seems like she's doin' okay," he answered for her. "'Specially since we got all that junk offa her." He touched the bandaged wrists lightly.

"I see." Red Doe came over and faced the girl. "Will you let me look?" she said. The girl held one hand out, wrist upwards. Logan watched as Red Doe unwrapped the wrist and looked at the dressed sores. "What did you use on them, Speaks-To-Horses?" she asked, using his Indian name.

Logan shuffled his feet. "Same stuff I use on a horse that has saddle sores," he said. "I figured if it was just the outside it'd be all right. I didn't want ta use horse medicines yesterday 'cause I didn't know if they'd make her sicker."

Red Doe nodded approvingly. "You are a wise man who knows his limits, and even wiser to admit he needs help." She rewrapped the wrist. "Your medicine is strong. She will heal well. There may be marks left on the skin, though."

Logan made a face. "I know. Nothin' can be done bout that, though."

Red Doe shook her head. "We have a skin treatment that will darken white wound marks on the skin so they will not show. When she heals I shall bring some and apply it until the marks fade." She looked at the ointment-slick legs and smiled. "You have attended to her legs?"

"Yep. How do they look?" Red Doe went to one knee, studied the child's legs carefully.

"Very good," she said finally. "Now if you can lie down, child, I will check your back." She nodded approvingly at the strips of cloth Logan had applied to keep the old dressing in place, then unwound it and used a damp cloth Logan handed her to wipe the old dressing off.

Underneath the five red lines still looked nasty, and when Red Doe touched the injured flesh Jubilee sucked in a breath and clenched her fist. Logan coaxed the fingers to uncurl and recurl around his hand, then squeezed her hand reassuringly as Red Doe inspected the cuts. She seemed to spend a lot of time on one particular cut, looking grave, but she said nothing to either of them. She rose from where she sat on the bed beside the child and went to her medicine bag, bringing forth a packet of herbs that was added to the pot of water already on the fire. When it was cool she skimmed the top of the pot and brought the skimming over. She waited until it was cool enough to touch, then smeared it on Jubilee's back. Logan held her still as Red Doe worked the ointment into that one cut that seemed to worry her, and then wiped her fingers on the strips of cloth before reapplying them to the wound.

"Are you hot?" the girl nodded slightly. Red Doe placed a hand on her forehead, then her cheek. "Are you thirsty?" Jubilee nodded again. Logan went to fetch a mug and scooped some water up in it, but before he started across the cabin to give it to the girl, Red Doe intercepted the cup. She unstoppered a skin of some kind of fluid from her medicine bag, and added a few drops of it to the cup. Logan didn't comment, but dropped the reed into it and gave it to the girl, who drank it down. In moments she was asleep. Red Doe gathered up the pot and went outside, and Logan followed her. 

"She is taking wound fever," Red Doe said gravely once they were out of the cabin. "The skin around the one cut I was looking at is becoming inflamed. Her skin is hot, and she is thirsty. It is not a good sign. You must watch her carefully over the next few hours. When she begins to fidget, and becomes restless, it means that wound fever is setting in. You must keep her in bed, and she must have water to drink as often as she wants it. Bad spirits will settle into her when the fever has begun, and she will say things that make no sense. She will have bad dreams. You must make sure the spirits do not make her harm herself." She sighed. "I will return early tomorrow to be sure she is all right."

Logan returned to the cabin, looking down at the sleeping girl. Her face, now that he looked closely, was a little flushed, and her lips looked dry. He sat down in the chair and watched her for a long time.

As night drew on, she began to toss and turn in her sleep. Soft whimpers came from her slightly parted lips, and Logan saw her face grow more and more flushed. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead. Worried, he took two buckets outside, filled each one with water, and carried them both inside. Picking up a handful of rags he brought them to her bedside and pulled the chair up too. He soaked the cloth with cool water, wrung it out, and placed it across her hot forehead to bring the fever down.

"No…" she spoke softly in her sleep, but the word was full of anguish and pain. "Please, no…" she flailed out with her arms suddenly. "No, please, you're hurting me…" He thought she was talking about the whipping she had gotten, but as she rolled over on her back her hands went down to her loins, and she spasmed as if something were hurting her there. "No, please no, please, it'll hurt, please…"

Logan closed his eyes tight, heartsick. If her womanhood had been taken already. No man would marry her now. She would be considered a loose woman, and her only possible future now was as a saloon girl. He wondered if the Railmaster had done it, or if it had happened long ago. Had the slaves made use of her at night, like Hunt had suggested? The thought sickened him. He wondered if he dared ask Red Doe to examine the girl.

"Please," the child cried in despair. "Please, don't! please, it hurts, oh God, it hurts…" Her body jerked and spasmed. "Please, Railmaster, please tell him not to chain me, please tell him to stop, I'm just a kid, they're too heavy, and they rub..." and the rest of what she said trailed off into incoherent babbling. Logan clenched his fist. He would go back to town. He would go back for one last talk with the railmaster. He wanted to rip the man apart. He wanted to…

"Mister Logan?" came a weak, hoarse voice. He looked down to see a pair of tear-filled blue eyes looking up at him. "Water, please…" He hurriedly dipped a cup into the pail, brought it dripping to her lips, helped her drink, and then replaced the hot cloth on her forehead with a fresh, cold one. She lay back, satisfied for the moment, and her mind wandered off into the tormented dreamscape again. Logan slept fitfully that night, catching a few minutes with his head pillowed on his folded arms between bouts of listening to her scream in pain from whatever torture she had endured and begging God for her freedom. He slept when she went silent, woke when she screamed, gave her water when she was lucid enough to ask for it, and held her while she cried. Close to dawn her fever finally broke, and he bathed her sweat-soaked face and limbs before she fell into an exhausted sleep. He took the opportunity to sleep too.


	7. Jubilee

Chapter 7: Jubilee

                "Logan?" a soft voice woke him accompanied by a gentle touch on his shoulder.

                He sat bolt upright suddenly, then caught himself before he made a noise that would wake the sleeping child on the bed in front of him. "Red Doe?"

                "Yes," said the gentle voice. "It is morning. Are you all right? It looks like it has been a long night."

                Logan got to his feet, stretched the kinks out of his back, and went to the fire to make some coffee. "It was definitely a damned long night," he groaned, rubbing gritty eyes. "She didn't fall asleep until the dawn birds started singin'. She stayed up most of the night babblin' an' cryin'." He sat down heavily in the chair, staring at the fire. "She kept sayin' someone was hurtin' her, an' she was rubbin' her loins. Red Doe…do you…" he swallowed. "Do you think that…she…" he trailed off.

                Red Doe sighed. "I will never understand the white man's reluctance to speak of things concerning the body. Yes, I will examine her, maybe it was just a bad dream, and has not happened." She went to the sleeping child and slipped a hand under the thin blanket that covered her. After a second, her face grew tight. "It was not a dream," she said.

                Logan was about to say something when he saw those blue eyes open. Red Doe calmly smoothed the blanket back over the child's body and said calmly, "Child, you spoke some things in your sleep last night. Logan wanted to know if they were true."

                Those eyes turned to face him, and Jubilee nodded once. "But I never spoke to them," she said. "I never told the Railmaster. The men did whatever they wanted but I never told him."

                Red Doe explained. "The words she spoke in her dream were words she wanted to say but did not. We often do this; we say things in our dreams, in our sleep that we wish we had said at the time the incident happened. Do not worry. It will not keep her from bearing children."

                "That ain't what I was worried about," Logan said. "I was wonderin' if any boy will ever want to marry her, with her ru…" he saw the look on Red Doe's face and changed what he was about to say. 'Ruined' was not a word that would make Jubilee feel better about what happened. "With her body all scarred like that."

                "If she finds a man who loves her he will not care." She sighed, and hefted the large bundle she had brought the last time and had been forgotten in the rush. "I brought some of the white woman's clothing we have," she said, "As well as some clothing that Autumn Rain's child has outgrown but are still suitable for wear. When you are stronger, small one, we shall have you try these on to see how they fit. For now, though," she said, opening the parcel she had brought, "I found a pair of moccasins that should fit you. When you are well enough to walk about they will protect your feet."

                Jubilee insisted on getting up as soon as Red Doe left, but Logan was relieved that she seemed content to take it easy. She sat on the chair Logan pulled out the back door for her so she could watch him make her bed. She said nothing, but watched with wide eyes as he wove the willow limbs tightly together to form a flat mat. Then he took a couple of stout logs from his firewood pile, cut them until he had four posts to attach the willow branch mat to, and whittled them until they were smooth. He firmly lashed the platform to the four posts with lots of sturdy leather thongs and rope, then pushed the whole contraption into the cabin and placed it against the wall of the cabin opposite from his. Taking a feed sack from the pile of empty ones by the back door, he went out and gathered most of the now-dry grasses he'd cut the first night she was there, and packed them into the sack until it was full. He put that on top of the willow platform and sat down on it himself, testing the firmness of the platform and the softness of the sack. Satisfied, he grabbed a flour sack, put the rest of the dried grass into it, and placed that at the top of the bed.

                She walked tentatively across the cabin floor and sat down, then lay back and smiled. He grinned. "Yer own bed," he smiled. "Better'n sleepin' on a hard wood floor. An' I can have mine back!" he smiled at her delighted face, and went back outside.

                He'd bought some straight boards from the town's general store a while back, thinking to build himself a better outhouse, but had never gotten around to it, and the boards had been sitting under a sheet of canvas for close to a year. Now he was glad he'd never used them. He took them into the cabin one at a time, laying them on the floor, and grabbed his hammer and the box of metal nails he'd bought from the smith a while back. He opened the boxes. There was still enough to do what he needed to do. He started by nailing the shorter boards as upright supports to the cabin's floor, and then took the longer boards and nailed one end to the wall. Driving in more nails along its length to keep the long boards to the uprights, he soon had a wall built between his sleeping area and hers.

                He took some of the leftover boards outside and started to saw them into much shorter lengths. Using more nails, he nailed them together to form a box, then chose a piece of board to go over top. Digging around in a box of odds and ends, he came up with a hinge that used to belong to a door. It would work. He affixed one side of the hinge to the inside of the box, one side to the board, and soon had an opening lid. He took the box with the hinged lid into the cabin and set it at the foot of the bed, then took the clothes Red Doe had brought and put them into the chest. "Not bad," he said to himself, looking at the chest.

                Jubilee smiled. "It's perfect." She hesitated. "What do I call you? Red Doe said your name is John Logan, but you don't look like a 'John'."

                Logan rolled his eyes. "Just call me Logan," he told her. "Ain't never like 'John', anyway."

                He woke to the sight of sunlight streaming over the wooden partition between her bed and his. He stared at the wall, confused, while his brain sluggishly started to work, then rolled over and sat up.

                The smell of fresh coffee reached his nose, and he sniffed appreciatively as he reached over and pulled his breeches on. Standing up, he walked out of his room and out into the main room of the cabin, and saw the girl pushing his twig broom across the floor, sweeping dirt and debris out the door, which was open to the sunlight. Two pots hung over the fire; one held the coffee he smelled; the other held the leftover stew of the day before. Logan blinked. "Ya didn't haveta."

                She shrugged simply and went on sweeping. He went to the stew, lifting the cover and taking a sniff. The smell of rancid meat filled his nose. "Uh, kid? Did you know the stew went bad?"

                She frowned, putting down the broom and going to the pot. She sniffed, then looked up at him, puzzled. He shook his head. "The stew's bad. Meat that sits out for more'n a day goes bad and it shouldn't be eaten because it'll make ya sick."

                She looked at the contents of the pot. "I've smelled worse," she said finally. "I've eaten stuff that smelled worse. The cook for the railroad made stuff like this all the time."

                Logan was horrified and repulsed by this revelation. "Well, yer livin' with me now. Ya ain't gonna eat bad food." He took the pot off the fire and took it outside.

                She followed him as he went out to the pigpen and dumped the still steaming stew into the pig trough. The pigs came running when they smelled the food (he'd forgotten to feed them yesterday) but drew back when they felt the heat. They'd wait for it to cool before they ate.

                She trailed after him silently as he went down to the stream and washed out the pot, watching intently as he took handfuls of the clean white sand and used it to scrub out the food stuck to the side of the pot. Finished, he rinsed the sand out and carried the pot back up to the house. He opened the door where he kept the smoked, cured meats in a cool room underground, and used his belt knife to cut a hunk off the side of bacon hanging there. When he came back out she was still standing there watching. He grinned and handed her a small basket. "Here. See that chicken yard right there? Think ya can go get the eggs? Been a couple of days since I collected the eggs." She took the basket and headed off toward the chicken yard.

                He cooked the bacon first, then took out two metal plates and divided the bacon between them both, heaping one plate higher. She needed to eat more; and besides, he wasn't really hungry. He didn't usually eat breakfast; on days when he was busy with the horses he'd skip dinner and eat a large supper. He had a vague idea that maybe you couldn't do that with kids, though; and a couple of extra meals wouldn't hurt her, as skinny as she was. And he'd never met a kid who wasn't perpetually hungry; there was no reason to assume she'd be any different.

                He went to the back door to see what was taking her so long with the eggs; and started to laugh. The bad-tempered old rooster that ruled the chicken yard wasn't intending to let the kid anywhere near the hens, who were sitting on two days' worth of eggs. Every time she tried to take a step toward the hens, the rooster flew at her in a fury, pecking angrily. She'd retreat hastily, and try again.

                He stepped outside, intending to go to her rescue, still laughing. But as he started toward her, she changed tactics. Instead of going for the hens, she started going after the rooster. He stopped to watch, wondering what she was going to do.

                She ran a couple of steps at the rooster, causing it to run the other way, then reversed and ran toward the gate. The rooster chased her. She ran at him a couple of steps, then took several strides toward the gate. The rooster pursued her. She reached the gate, opened it, and darted through. The rooster squeezed himself past the gate, and then she turned and flew back into the yard, closing the gate right on her heels and keeping the rooster outside. The rooster shrieked in anger and fury as she went quickly among the hens, taking their eggs and putting them gently in the basket. When she finished, she went to the fence, put her basket on the ground on the other side, then straddled the fence as she opened the gate. The rooster went to the hens immediately as she closed the gate, hopped off the fence, and picked up the basket. She trotted up to the back door, smiling broadly at his smile, and handed him the basket of eggs.

                He grinned. "Never thought 'bout takin' care o' that ol' rooster that way," he said. "Yer clever." She blushed at the praise. He took the basket inside, put the eggs on the table, and then handed the basket back to her. "Out in the barn, there's a bag next to the door labeled 'chicken feed'. Fill the basket half-full and take it out to the yard, then scatter the feed around for the chickens. If they start seein' yer the one who feeds 'em, the ol' rooster'll stop attackin' ya when ya go ta get the eggs." She took the basket, but hesitated a moment. He saw the look. "What's wrong?" She paused, then shook her head and went out the back door.

                She walked into the barn and looked beside the door. There were two bags there; her heart sank. They both had words printed on them, but she couldn't read, so she didn't know what they said. She hadn't wanted to tell him she couldn't read; he'd think she was stupid or something. She opened the first bag. Inside was what plainly were oats; that must be for his horses. The second bag, when she opened it, had kernels of corn in it. This must be for the chickens. Relieved that she had been able to figure that out, she filled the little basket half-full using the little tin cup at the mouth of the sack, and went out to the chicken yard. She deterred the rooster from attacking her by throwing a handful of corn at him; he settled down to eat busily. The hens came crowding up for their share, and he frowned. The ones Mr. Shiomo had kept weren't usually hungry like this. Then she thought back to the previous day, and realized they were hungry because their owner had spent the whole day with her, and hadn't feed them. Reasoning that they might need water too, she went and picked up the water bucket and took it off to the well.

                Logan watched her feed and water the chickens. Clever. She'd figured they might be thirsty too. He smiled. Maybe he could use a little helper around here after all. She could take care of the livestock while he took care of the horses. And the floor of the cabin had been getting dirty; it had needed the sweeping.

                He stuck his head out the back door. "Hey. Think ya could put some water in the pigs' trough too? Use the water bucket. Don't fill it all the way full, or it'll hurt yer hands. And when yer done that, come an' eat." She picked up the water bucket and took it to the well.

                She filled it half-full, looked at the water in it, and at the size of the pig trough, and groaned. If she did it by half-buckets, it would take forever, and she was hungry. And the smell coming from the cabin really smelled delicious. Her stomach rumbled emptily. Recklessly she filled the bucket full and started to carry it to the pigpen carefully, so as not to spill any. Her hands throbbed from the weight, but she ignored it. She'd lived with pain for so long that she no longer noticed the small things like throbbing hands.

                She was halfway to the pigpen when a strong hand caught up the pail and relieved her of its weight. Logan saw her struggling to walk with the heavy bucket and cursed her for seven kinds of a fool as he ran out to take the bucket from her. He dumped the water into the trough and walked back to where she was standing. He put the bucket down and grabbed her wrists, turning her palms upward to check them. They were red. "I told ya ta do it in half-bucketfuls," he scolded her, noting the places on her palms where old blisters had popped. "Why ya gotta be stubborn an' do it all at once?"

                She lowered her eyes at the angry tone in his voice, and cowered visibly. "I was hungry and I wanted to eat before it was all gone," she whispered.

                He sighed. "Food ain't goin' nowhere," he said. "What, ya think I'd eat what I wanted an' leave ya the leftovers?" Her silence was answer enough. He snarled silently at whoever the fools had been who'd mistreated her so badly for so long, and crouched in front of her, tilting his head to try and look into her lowered eyes. "Look. I dunno who started doin' that with ya, but here it's only you an' me. I'm gonna share anythin' I got with ya, fairly."

                "Why?" came her soft whisper, and she looked up at him finally. "Why would you do that for me? I'm nobody, I'm just a slave girl."

                Logan struggled to find words to describe what he felt. He wasn't much of a one for expressing feelings. "I do it cause yer a kid, an' ya shouldn't have ta go hungry. Ya shouldn't have ta be scared an' hurt an' tired all the time. I do it 'cause I've never believed ownin' another human's right. I'm almost thirty, an' I ain't never owned a slave before, an' I don't intend ta start doin' so now. Ya ain't a slave, I tol' ya before, here yer a free girl, and soon's I get some time I'm gonna go on down ta Jackson an' git ya papers ta prove yer free. And I do it 'cause…" and he swallowed hard, feeling a lump in his throat rise at the thought of another pair of blue eyes buried in the ground at his old home back East, "'Cause ya remind me o' someone I knew once, a long time ago. Now come on. 'Nuff jawin. Breakfast's ready."


	8. Riding Lessons

Chapter 8: Riding Lessons

                He took her outside after breakfast, and they went to the horse corral. He carried two buckets of water; he made sure she only carried a half bucketful. They emptied the buckets into the water trough, which Logan noticed was nearly empty. He sighed in dismay. He'd have to pay more attention to them. He gave a series of whistling calls, and his herd responded to the call by flying across the pasture, Dark Star and Storm leading the way. The kid hid behind him timidly when the horses stopped at the trough, then when Storm saw he didn't have a bridle he came running the rest of the way. Logan stood his ground. He'd played this game with the horse before.

                Storm pounded up, ears back flat to his head, teeth bared. Logan stood his ground. The horse didn't stop until he was practically in top of the man, then he stopped so suddenly his hooves dug deep furrows in the ground. Logan laughed aloud. "Feeling frisky, eh, boy?" He patted the velvety nose and grinned as the nose butted him in the stomach, as if chiding him for ignoring them. Logan grinned and scratched under the chin. "Hey, kid," he said. "C'mere, want ya ta meet Storm. He's the boss of the herd." When there was no response, he turned around. "Kid?"

                She was backed up beside the fence, cowering, hiding her face. He left the horse and went to her, kneeling beside her. "Hey," he said gently. "We was just playin'. We do it all the time. Did it scare ya?"

                Slowly, she nodded. "I'm scared of horses," she whispered. "They're big, and mean--"

                Logan hauled her bodily to her feet. "They are not mean," he said. "Well, not all of them. I raise horses here, kid. I train and sell them. If yer gonna help me round the place, ya gotta get used ta them. C'mon. I'll show ya there ain't nothin' ta be scared of." She followed behind him timidly as he went back to the waiting horse. "Here," he said, stopping and putting a lump of sugar in her hand. "Hold yer hand out in front o' him, palm flat. He'll take the sugar offa yer hand." She tried, he'd have to give her credit for that. She extended her hand, but it was shaking so badly with fear that the sugar fell off. Storm looked at her with a look that could only be described as disgust, and reached down to the ground for the sugar.

                Logan looked at Storm thoughtfully. Maybe a big stallion was the wrong horse to start her off on. He whistled, and a pale gray pony with large, irregular black patches separated itself from the group and came trotting docilely forward. There was no game of chicken with this one; Pretty Girl was not the kind to play those games. She was a quiet, gentle brood mare who had the best temperament of any of the horses in the herd, and was also the shortest. Her head came to the kid's chest. "This is Pretty Girl," he said, scratching the horse's neck under the black and white mane. "She's the nicest, gentlest horse I got. Try her."

                Jubilee still looked tentative, but at least the sugar didn't fall off her shaking hand this time. Her hand was much steadier when Logan put another lump on it this time.  And after the third lump was gone, she even had the temerity to reach out and pat the horse's head, between the black-and white splotched ears. Pretty Girl closed her eyes and munched the sugar happily as the timid caress continued.

                Jubilee was startled when the horse sneezed suddenly, and withdrew her hand, looking ready to run again. Pretty Girl wasn't having that. She wanted more scratching. She stepped forward and pushed her head under Jubilee's hand, and the kid started to caress the horse again. "Her skin's so soft," the girl said wonderingly. "Like velvet."

                Logan watched the girl carefully. "Wanna ride her?" he asked.

                The reaction was instantaneous. Jubilee withdrew her hand rapidly and ran for the fence, scrambling frantically over it, and then dashed for the house as fast as she could run. Logan hopped the fence and followed her.

                She was lying on her bed when he came in the cabin, breathing hard. He said nothing, just pulled the chair up next to her bed and reached for her hand. He could see the blood pulse in her thin wrist so quickly he almost couldn't see the separate beats. Her heart was pounding.

                When she offered no explanation he tugged gently on her hand to get her attention. "Hey," he said. She didn't look at him, but her head turned slowly. He spoke a little more firmly. "Jubilee. Look at me." Slowly she raised her eyes to his, and he saw the terror in her eyes. He frowned. "Why are you so scared of horses?"

                "I…I got in trouble at the servants' camp once. They chained me up in the horse barn, in a tiny stall next to this mean stallion. All night he was sniffing the wall and he kept kicking at it and whinnying. The wall finally broke. He kept lunging at me with his teeth and trying to kick me, and he got me once with a hoof on the back of my head. I remember feeling blood, and my head was hurting, and then I guess I passed out. I don't remember anything after that. But I was so scared of him. Everybody was scared of him. And they still left me all night with him."

                Logan dropped her hands and went outside so she wouldn't hear the cursing, stamping, and swearing he was doing over people who would chain a terrified child up with a dangerous outlaw horse. Finally he got himself calmed down enough to go back inside. She was still lying in her bed.

                He sat down, undid the long braids. Her hair tumbled out of it, thick and wavy. It was a little dirty, and tangled, but he loved the feel of it under his fingers. He ran his hand through it, feeling at her scalp, until he found the hairless scar on the back of her skull. She didn't flinch at his touch; but when he felt the size and thought about how young she must have been, he didn't wonder that she was terrified of horses. He stroked the tangled hair, idly wondering if he could get any of that soap that women used to clean their hair. How long had it been since she had a bath? And a comb wouldn't be a bad idea either. "Darlin'," he said softly, feeling her hand tighten around his, "I don't wonder yer so scared. I don't blame ya. But none o' my horses are that vicious; if they were I wouldn't keep 'em around. And ya rode a horse before, though ya might not remember. I put ya on Dark Star ta bring ya here. Do ya 'member that?" Slowly she nodded. He continued. "Pretty Girl's a little small fer ya, but she's the gentlest one I got. She ain't got a mean bone in her body, so ya don't gotta be scared o' her. Will ya give her a try? Just fer me?"

                She nodded again.

                Pretty Girl stood still by the mounting block, eyes half-closed in the afternoon sun, lazily chewing on the bit in her mouth as Logan helped Jubilee climb onto the stump. "All right," he coaxed, encouraged by the sight of her really trying. "Now put your hands around the saddle horn there," and he pointed to the protrusion at the front of the saddle. "And pull yourself up." She scrambled astride, and he shortened her stirrups a bit. "Put your feet in there. Good. Here's the reins. Hold them in your hand, one side in each hand, like this," he positioned her hands, "And I'm going to start her off on a walk." He went to the center of the corral, picking up the other end of the lunge line attached to Pretty Girl's bit, and picked up the long handled whip. Jubilee was concentrating so hard on staying on the horse she didn't see the whip, and he kept it trailing in the dust so it wouldn't frighten her. "All right. Take yer heel, kid, an' touch her lightly with it. That's it, turn yer foot out a little, touch her…right, now, she's walking. Ya got her ta walk. Good girl!" She flushed at the praise and her death grip on the reins loosened a little. Logan smiled. He'd attached the reins to the headstall, not the bit. Pretty Girl would have been running by now from the pressure of that grip on her reins. "Good. Keep yer back straight, head up, heels down. No, don't look down," he said, seeing the kid's eyes dropping down to the ground and checking out how far she really was off the ground. "Ya look down, yer gonna get scared 'gain. Keep lookin' straight 'tween them big black an' white ears." Her eyes obediently returned to Pretty Girl's ears.

                They walked in circles for a long while, until finally he saw the hands on those reins go completely slack. She never let them go, which was good; but she wasn't grabbing them like she'd done when she first got on. "Right. Now, we're gonna pick up the pace a little. Hang on." He signaled to Pretty Girl with a gentle cluck and a twitch on the lunge line, and the pony patiently broke into a sedate trot. Logan almost laughed when he saw the kid start bouncing around like a sack of flour. "Brace yourself against the stirrups, there, kid. Press yer feet against them. Yep, like that. That's right. Good." He waited until she settled and wasn't bouncing so much, then slowed Pretty Girl down to a walk. The next half-hour they practiced changing gaits, from walking to trotting, and finally Logan decided they'd had enough. He slowed Pretty Girl down and walked the pony to the stump. "All right," he said, holding his hands up to catch the kid as she awkwardly tumbled out of the saddle. She didn't weigh much, and for a moment he treasured the feel of the small body leaning so trustingly against his hands. The moment passed as he set her down, and he grinned. "Hey. Good job for a first timer. We'll take it easy, a little at a time, till yer okay with ridin', huh?" he ruffled her loose hair. "Go on in and get yerself a plate a' them leftovers from breakfast. I gotta finish up with a coupla horses 'fore I call it quits." She went off up to the house, her dress skirt flapping, and he grinned as he untacked Pretty Girl and whistled for Dark Star. He'd have to consider getting her a saddle that would fit her; his was just a little too big.

                He tacked up Dark Star and swung on the horse's back. They started with an easy walk, then when the horse was warmed up they swung into a trot, then a canter, and a gallop. The kid stood by the fence with a plate and fork, eating while she watched. Satisfied that she was okay, he focused on what he was doing and didn't look up until he was walking Dark Star in a circle to cool the horse down.

                The kid wasn't alone by the fence; Red Doe and Running Wolf were there too. The kid had edged a little away from them, but at least she wasn't running away. He swung Dark Star to a stop beside the fence and gripped Running Wolf's arm in the traditional greeting. "Hey," he said.

                Running Wolf smiled. "We wished to see how you were getting along with your new companion," he said. "And Red Doe had a few things for her."

The tone of voice was the one he used when he was referring to women's things, and Logan grinned. "Hey, kid?" he said. She sidled up next to him. "Go with Red Doe, okay? She's got some stuff fer ya. We men gotta jaw a bit." He watched as the girl started off toward the house, Red Doe beside her. Shortly thereafter, Red Doe came out of the house and got a bucket of water from the well, carrying it back into the house.

"How is she?" Running Wolf said. "She looks happier."

"I think so," Logan grinned. "She's scared a horses, but I think we're makin' progress on that. She got kicked in the head by an outlaw a while back; I seen the scar; but she's comin' 'long."

"We went hunting yesterday," Running Wolf said. "We passed the Iron Road on the way. The leader there is not so happy, we think; he was shouting a great deal. And there were soldiers in the town. I do not know if it has anything to do with you, friend, but I thought I might warn you. That man does not look like he gives up possessions easily."

Logan gritted his teeth. "He ain't got no right," he snapped angrily. "What he done to her was terrible. Thank God she don't seem like she's damaged, but she got scars an' she ain't too comfortable 'round others. She only talks ta me an' Red Doe. If that man comes here lookin' fer her he's gonna have a little talk with my knife. I done already warned him. I ain't warnin' him again." He gritted his teeth as he led Dark Star out of the corral, removed the tack, and let the horse drink as he checked the horse's shoes and started to curry the dried sweat out of the black coat. When the horse was glossy black and dry, he turned him loose in the big pasture, picked up the grooming materials, and headed off to the barn to stow the stuff.

When he came out of the barn he was greeted by a happy whoop. He stopped and stared. Jubilee was running across the grass toward him, her long dark hair flying behind her. It was still damp, but when Logan grabbed her as she ran to hug him he smelled a sweet scent in her hair. She was clean, too; the residual dirt on her skin was washed off, leaving nothing but clean pale skin with only a few dusky bruises here and there. She wore a dress he'd seen in the pile Red Doe had brought for her, and underneath she wore proper women's underthings. He grinned as she looked up at him. "Feel better?"

"It's been a while since I had a bath," she said happily. "Red Doe brought this sweet smelling stuff and showed me how to wash my hair properly, and she brought this comb that took all the tangles out, look…" and she drew her fingers through her hair easily. "And I've never felt this clean before, oh, it's wonderful!" She spread her arms wide, threw her head back, and laughed at the sky. Logan grinned at her. Then she took off running toward the house again.

Running Wolf looked after her. "My friend, I don't envy you."

Logan frowned. "Huh?"

"There are plenty of young men in my camp who would wish to pursue a closer relationship with a beauty such as she," he said. "You will need to build another barn to hold the courting gifts they will bring for her."

"They won't want her," Logan said grimly. "Did Red Doe tell ya? Them male slaves who work on the railroad were permitted ta force themselves on her."

"Yes, she told me. Young men of the People will not care, my friend. White men might; but our boys will not care. She is beautiful, and she has spirit. If she can learn the skills proper to becoming a good wife, she will not lack for suitors…or even casual company."

Logan set his jaw. "There's a long time fer that," he said stiffly. He couldn't imagine anyone with his sweet little girl. He didn't _want_ to.

Running Wolf stared at him thoughtfully. "Yes," he said finally. "There is a lot of time for that." He took Logan's arm. "Come. I smell Red Doe's touch in the evening meal."


	9. Soaring Eagle

Chapter 9: Soaring Eagle

                "LOGAN!"

                The kid's panicked scream cut through all the normal sounds of an early morning, and Logan dropped the two plates he held in his hand and ran.

                Outside, he saw her standing by the horse corral, her hands clamped over her mouth and tears flowing down her face. Logan ran over to the fence and stopped dead, staring in shock. Jubilee ran to him, wrapped her arms around his chest, and started to sob into his shirt.

                He wrapped his arms around her and held her as he stared mutely at the ground. Pretty Girl lay there, dead and bloody, taken down by a predator and partially eaten. He gritted his teeth. "Go back ta the cabin," he told her, but she shook her head. With streaming eyes she jumped over the fence and went to her knees beside the head of her beloved pony. Her hands stroked the bloody head as Logan jumped the fence too.

                It didn't take long for him to find out what had done this. It had rained the day before, and imprinted clearly in the fresh mud was the print of a large wolf. Not the biggest one Logan had ever seen, but it had been large enough to take down a pony. Therefore, it was a danger to all his horses. Having found an easy meal here, it would continue to come until he stopped it.

                He sighed. Well, he had been meaning to make a fur blanket for the kid's bed when the weather got colder; a wolf pelt would be the right size for a little thing like her. Time to go hunting. First, though…

                He went back to the barn, got Dark Star's saddle, a length of rope, and a shovel, and returned to the corral. Whistling for Dark Star, he saddled the horse up and tied one end of the rope around the saddle horn, then took the other end and tied it around the hooves of the dead pony. Dark Star snuffled a bit, unhappy with being asked to drag the carcass of the pony who had been accompanying him on rides for the last month, but willing to do it if that was what Logan asked him to do. Logan patted the horse's neck.

                With Jubilee following, Logan got Pretty Girl dragged out past his property line, out to the middle of the prairie where a single tree grew up out of the grass. There, he took the shovel and started digging. The wet ground was heavy, and hard to move, and the sun was hot. When he put the shovel down to rest, Jubilee took it from him and continued digging. When she rested, he took over.

                Taking it in turns, they had a hole large enough to bury the horse's body by the end of the morning. Logan carefully slid the front of the body down into the hole, then the hindquarters. Getting to his knees, he reached in and untied the rope, then started shoveling dirt into the hole. The kid helped. Finally he tamped the last shovel of dirt on the smooth mound, and sighed. "C'mon, kid," he said, wrapping a grimy arm around her shoulders. "Let's go get cleaned up, and eat, and then we have to go hunting."

                As she sat at the table and ate, he started packing. Rifle, shells for it, dried meat that could be kept in a saddlebag and gnawed on when they got hungry, a bladder of water for each of them just in case he couldn't find one, and blankets just in case they had to spend the night out there tonight. She was silent; out of grief, he supposed. She finished eating, put her plate in the sink, and waited for his instructions.

                "Tack up Dark Star for me," he said, "And cut Molly out of the herd for yourself." She obediently went outside.

                When he went outside she was tacking up Molly, having already done Dark Star for him. He checked the black's saddle straps and stirrups, more out of habit than out of necessity; she knew, by now, all of his preferences and made sure she did everything exactly the way he liked it. He loaded his pack onto the saddle, strapped it down, and got on.

                Molly sidled sideways, trying to slip out from under the pack Jubilee was strapping down on her back. Logan pressed his lips together. Molly was a lazy palomino; given the chance she'd spend the entire day eating by the bank of the stream, where she had water and food both in easy reach, and never move a step the entire day. She disliked being saddled, and hated the sight of a pack. She was also, in Logan's opinion, stupid. If she didn't consistently drop good intelligent foals sired by Storm, he wouldn't have kept her around. She was more suited to being a pampered lady's mare. However, right now his six other mares were either in foal or suspected to be, and he didn't want them to be ridden. Especially not on a long trip like this. And as good as the kid's riding abilities had gotten over the last month, he still wasn't sure she would be able to handle a stallion, or even a gelding.

                Jubilee finally smacked Molly's flank with an open hand. "Hold still!" she exclaimed, exasperated. Molly whuffed in displeasure, but held still while Jubilee strapped the pack onto her back behind the saddle. Finally they were ready. She mounted with one smooth, fluid move, having long ago discarded the stump she'd used as a mounting block in favor of mounting the way he did. He nodded approvingly. She had learned a lot in a month's worth of riding lessons. She still got a sore butt from too much riding, though, and Logan had been reluctant to make her take the full day's trip to Jackson with him. He would have to soon, though. He was running low on some things, and he wanted to get her papers. He never thought of her as a slave, but there were times, when he got upset about something around the ranch, he saw a little of that old fear in her eyes, and she'd get very quiet and make herself scarce until he calmed down.

                Touching his heels to Dark Star's flanks, he moved his horse out of the yard and onto the trail. The wolf's prints led away from the ranch up into the foothills in the distance; he was going that way, then. Behind him, Jubilee tried the same thing with her mount, then tried to cluck the horse into motion. When that failed, she smacked Molly's rump firmly with one hand. The horse ambled slowly out of the yard.

                It took them the better part of an hour to make their way up into the foothills. Molly wanted to stop and graze at every clump of grass they passed, and she laid her ears back and snapped irritably at Jubilee when the girl pulled her head up out of the clump. They were making very little progress, and Jubilee finally dismounted when they reached the trees in the foothills and snapped a branch off a tree. Quickly stripping it of bark and leaves with the spare belt knife Logan had given her, she got back on grimly. After that they made better progress. Molly quickly learned when Jubilee raised that switch she'd better move unless she wanted to get hit with it, and soon all Jubilee had to do was wave the thing at the horse.

                Logan grinned and focused back on the trail. The ground here was strewn with rocks, and he had to watch carefully for signs that the wolf he was trailing had come the way they were going. Several times they'd had to backtrack until Logan picked up the trail again.

                They reached a plateau in the foothills, and Logan stopped to let the horses take a breather while he got down and looked at the tracks. The wolf had been traveling in a more-or-less straight line from the ranch to here; wherever it was going, it had a purpose. He wondered what that purpose was. They were very far from the ranch by now; far enough that the ranch should have been well out of the wolf's territory. And the wolf had to have been desperate to leave its territory to attack a human habitation.

                He got back on and was about to go on when a group of Indians broke out of the tree line across the meadow from where they stood. They weren't from a tribe that Logan recognized, but the medallion Running Wolf had given him back when they had first become friends should ensure his, and the kid's, safety. The medallion proclaimed him a member of Running Wolf's tribe, and therefore a brother to the Indians. He took off his hat and tipped his head to them, but they still didn't move. It took him a moment before he realized that it wasn't him they were looking at; it was Jubilee. One of the young men in the front, a tall brave with long flowing hair braided with eagle feathers, seemed especially interested in Jubilee.

                She was studying him with equal interest, though with a little trepidation. Logan watched her carefully. She'd told him about the Indians who had killed everyone in the indentured servants' camp; he knew that seeing his easy friendship with Red Doe and Running Wolf had lessened her fear of Indians, but he still didn't know how she was going to react to seeing a lot of them all at once.

                The Indian brave in the lead spurred his horse across the clearing and spoke to Logan. "You are far from any white man's dwelling." It was a statement, not a question, but Logan answered it anyway.

                "Yes. We're huntin' a wolf that attacked my daughter's pony last night an' killed it." Logan figured it would be simpler to introduce Jubilee that way than have to try and explain the white man's concept of slaves to this brave. After living with her for almost a month now, she felt like his daughter; he never treated her as a slave, and he never let her treat him as though he were her master. As far as Logan was concerned, when he'd taken her into his home he'd adopted her, and any man who wanted to say she was not his daughter would have to try and say so through six inches of Logan's steel knife buried in his throat. He hadn't realized just how lonely he'd really been until she came to live with him. Before she came, he'd make an occasional visit into town to visit Miss Becky's place, more for company than for the women, although he'd done that too. He realized he hadn't had a woman in more than a month; nor had he had a drink in that time either. And he didn't miss either one.

                The brave nodded, reached out, and touched Dark Star's glossy black neck. It was lightly sweated. He stopped when he felt the small charm braided into one side of the black mane, and flipped aside the mane to see it. "You are the one they call Speaks-To-Horses?"

                Logan nodded.

                "I am Soaring Eagle. I have been trying to find you for many moons," the brave said. "Come. Let us talk a while."

                It would have been rankest discourtesy to refuse, so Logan slid down off Dark Star and motioned Jubilee to do the same. She swung off Molly, and immediately the horse stepped sideways to nibble at a clump of grass. The brave watched approvingly as Jubilee took the bridle off and let the horse eat.

                He sat down on the ground, and the rest of the braves spread out. Jubilee sat down beside and a little behind him; it was natural to her, but it could be misunderstood by their present company, so Logan quietly tugged on the edge of the doeskin skirt she wore and indicated she should sit next to him. She did so.

                Shortly afterward, the braves returned with a deer between them. Jubilee watched interestedly as they skinned and prepared the meat for cooking, then she got up and found a couple of sturdy forked twigs to place the spitted deer onto. One of the braves produced a packet of herbs from his belt, and Jubilee tasted it, said something that made them laugh, and they trooped off into the underbrush, ostensibly to look for fresh seasonings.

                Soaring Eagle turned to Logan. "She is beautiful, your daughter. How many years has she?"

                Logan frowned. "Fourteen." He held up both hands, fingers open, closed one, and held up four fingers on his right. Jubilee wasn't even sure how old she was; she'd never had a birthday she could remember, so they'd guessed. The brave looked pleased. Logan frowned harder.

                The brave decided to stop beating around the bush. "My horse was killed in a buffalo stampede one moon ago. I need another horse, a good one. You are known as the white man who understands horses, who talks to horses and tells them what they must do. I wish to trade for a horse from you. He must be fast, able to run long distances while lightly burdened and not tire. He must also be able to drag a carcass on a travois."

                Logan thought fast. He had a paint gelding just about ready to go with Arabian blood, good clean lines, and a fast gait. This Indian would be able to use him. "I have one," he said finally. "What would ya give me in trade?"

                The brave's eyes wandered back to Molly, who had taken advantage of Jubilee's absence and chosen to try and roll with the saddle on. Dark Star nipped at her disapprovingly; he knew that when a saddle was on he was working, and he took too much pride in his work to put on such a display of slothfulness. Molly ignored him.

                "Any horse in my herd for your daughter," he said, laughing at the antics of the lazy palomino. "That horse is not a good match for your daughter. She needs something with a spirit as wild as hers, with wind in its hooves to match the sky in her eyes."

                Logan had to fight to suppress a growl. Coming from this brave, it was a subtle offer for Jubilee's hand, couched as a trade. However, he couldn't exactly refuse. Jubilee needed a good horse; she had outgrown the pony long ago but he hadn't had the heart to tell her that, and Molly was too lazy for Jubilee. The brave was right. He just didn't like the idea of his little girl leaving him so soon.

                He hadn't counted on Jubilee.

                "Really?" she'd come out of the tree line on the tail end of the brave's words, and her eyes lit up as she ran over to him with her arms full of fragrant herbs. "Really, Logan? You'll trade one of your good horses for an Indian pony for me?" Her eyes were sparkling.

                He bit back a growl. He didn't have a choice now. "Yeah, ya little pain in my ass, I'll trade for a horse for ya. Molly don't seem ta like ya much."

                "My own horse!" Jubilee grinned in delight and kissed him on the cheek, something she did very rarely and only when she was really happy about something.  She bounced off back to the roasting deer and the waiting braves, who were anxious to see how she was going to cook it. She started adding some of the leaves and bits of grass from her arms to the deer, having one of the braves turn the meat around as she did.

                "It is settled," the Indian said in satisfaction. "Let us eat."

Jubilee was still bubbling over with excitement when they got back on the trail of the wolf an hour later. "My own horse," she giggled. "My very own horse!"

Logan turned in his saddle and grinned at her. "Yeah, yer own horse, but take my advice an' pick a mare. Yer not ready ta handle a stud yet." He looked at her as she hurried Molly up beside him. "And hey, I need ta talk ta ya 'bout somethin'."

"What?" she looked at him curiously.

He fidgeted with Dark Star's reins. 'Well…that brave back there, I think he's gonna try an' make me an offer fer ya. I dunno if ya fancy yerself with one like him, or maybe ya prefer a white man."

"An offer?" she frowned. "Like a trade?"

Logan sighed. "Naw, not a trade, I think…he wants ta make ya his woman, like Red Doe an' Running Wolf is. Get married, I mean."

Jubilee swallowed. "M-m-married? He wants to give me a horse 'cause he wants to marry me?"

"He's giving me a choice of his horses because he wants one of mine, that's all," Logan said sharply. "But it'll give him an excuse ta come 'round the ranch ta see ya later, an' then he might eventually wanna marry ya."

Jubilee thought for a long while. "I don't know," she said shyly. "I never thought of myself as married. Slaves aren't allowed to--"

"Ya ain't a slave," Logan snapped. "Don't even say the word. If he's what ya want, I'll let ya go. Yer a bit young yet, but Indians start gettin' hitched soon's the girls turn sixteen or so. Ya ain't gettin' hitched till yer eighteen, but I figure ya wanna look around some."

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know, I haven't met any white boys my age yet who didn't look at me like I was a piece of trash. Maybe an Indian man is all I can settle for--"

Logan put a hand on Molly's bridle as he reined Dark Star in sharply. "Listen ta me, Jubilee," he said seriously. "I don't want ya ta 'settle fer' no one. If ya don't meet a boy ya love, ya can live with me as long as ya like. I ain't turnin' ya out. Marry fer love, girl, not cause ya wanna 'settle fer' someone."

"Really? I can live with you as long as I want?" She bounced in the saddle, causing Molly to whuff in displeasure. "Like forever?"

"Forever's kinda a long time, but yeah, if ya wanna, ya can live with me forever," he said.

She leaned out of her saddle to give him a kiss just as Molly decided she'd had enough of Jubilee bouncing on her back. She sidestepped quickly and Jubilee fell out of the saddle. Logan looked concerned, but Jubilee was laughing as she got up and mounted again.


	10. Snow

Chapter 10: Snow

                When it got so dark Logan couldn't see a trail anymore, he stopped the horses beside a clear stream. Jubilee got off and automatically started untacking the horses as Logan went into the underbrush.

                It took almost an hour before he found a rabbit trail, and another hour before he saw one. He shot it quickly and took it back to camp. Game here was awfully scarce, he mused as he skinned the rabbit, saved the fur to make a winter jacket for Jubilee, and handed her the rest to cook. Was this why the wolf had strayed so far from its territory? Because it couldn't find food here? He suddenly found himself pitying the wolf, but one look at placid, lazy Molly chewing grass at the edge of the camp circle firmed his resolve. Jubilee had been hurt by the loss of her beloved pony. And he was thoroughly disgusted with Molly by that point.

                The kid was tired, ate quickly, then unrolled her blanket and lay down, going promptly to sleep. He shook his head as he finished the rest of his supper. He always wondered how she managed to do that, fall asleep as soon as she put her head down. "Children sleep soundly," Red Doe had told him, but it still surprised him how fast she could conk out. He supposed it was because of her days on the railroad, when she had to take advantage of every minute she could take because the others would wake her up to… he suppressed a shudder, unrolled his own blanket, and banked the fire before slipping into a light doze.

                He woke to her gentle touch on his shoulder. "Logan?"

                He sat up, instantly alert to the wary tone of her voice. Beyond the fire, Molly and Dark Star were shuffling restlessly, whinnying defiance at the darkness. He grabbed his rifle as he looked in the direction she was looking, and saw two eyes gleaming back at him through the darkness. Jubilee grabbed another piece of wood and threw it on the fire, which flared into new life.

                In its light he could see the wolf. A lean, slat-sided animal, skinny as a rail, clearly starved. Its eyes gleamed with a feverish light, and he saw the long string of slaver dripping from its jaws. He sprang up, alarmed. This wolf was mad, and so was doubly dangerous. A mad wolf would not hesitate to attack people, even ones close to a fire. If it bit him, or worse, Jubilee, they'd die an extremely slow, painful death. He had to kill this wolf before it hurt either of them.

                Jubilee knew something was wrong with it. "What's wrong with it, Logan?" she asked, her voice trembling.

                "It's sick," he said, grabbing a branch without taking his eye off the wolf. Thrusting it into the fire until it was alight, he handed it to Jubilee. "If he jumps fer ya, stick this in his face. Don't let him bite ya, whatever ya do."

                The wolf looked at both of them, as if weighing its options, and Logan watched it carefully, waiting for any sign that it had made its decision. Without warning, the mad wolf rose from a standing position straight into the air, launching itself at Jubilee. She screamed and swung the burning brand at it, jabbing it in the face as its jaws snapped air just inches from her face. Logan froze, helpless; he couldn't shoot while girl and wolf were so entangled. Screams and snarls filled the night air.

                A ghost-like apparition appeared out of the night; another wolf. Logan raised his rifle, aimed and squeezed the trigger. The shot cracked through the night air, but he was shaking at the sight of two mad wolves this close together, and missed.

                The other wolf landed on the other side of the fire and snarled viciously, not at him, _but at the other wolf_.  Logan froze.

                The mad wolf must have gotten the message, because he turned and snarled at the other wolf. Logan cringed at the sight. Jubilee had done her best with the burning brand; the mad wolf's fur was singed across its chest and side. One eye looked like it had been burned, and was leaking blood down its cheek.

                Jubilee scrambled out of the way of the two wolves, and Logan, sensing the two wolves were engaged with each other for the moment, grabbed her arm and pulled her free of them. "You okay?" he said quietly, batting at the small tongue of flame on her sleeve. Thank goodness she was wearing the doeskin Indian tunic and breeches Red Doe had made for her, because if she'd been wearing white man's clothes she'd be badly burned by now. Leather didn't go up as fast as cloth did.

                "Yeah, I'm okay," she gasped. "He didn't bite me." She turned her attention to the two wolves, and gasped when she saw the other wolf. "Snow!" she cried out.

                The other wolf, a snow-white one with incredible blue eyes, looked at her briefly. Logan sat back, shaken. Jubilee's eyes were the same color as the wolf's eyes. If he believed Running Wolf's talk of totem spirits, of guardian spirits, he'd swear that the wolf Jubilee called Snow was her guardian spirit.

                The mad wolf charged Snow while the white wolf was distracted by Jubilee. Logan raised his rifle and shot. The mad wolf stopped in mid-stride, fell to the ground, and didn't move again.

                Jubilee was sobbing in relief as she ran to the white wolf. "Snow," she cried, "Oh, Snow, I missed you!" She threw her arms around the wolf before Logan could tell her to be careful, and the wolf lowered his head and licked her tear-smeared cheek.

                Logan lowered the rifle. There was something else going on here that he didn't know about, and he figured he'd find out who this wolf was before he shot again. "Uh, kid," he started.

                Jubilee turned her tear-streaked face toward him. "When I was in the servant's camp alone after the Indians went, one of the dogs in the camp had puppies. She died after giving birth to them, and the one cow left couldn't produce enough milk to keep the others alive. I milked her every day and fed Snow, because he was the strongest and the one I thought would survive. He stayed with me until the Railmaster came up and took me on the train, and I assumed he'd just gone away. I could still hear him sometimes at night, a long lonely wolf howl, but I thought it was just wishful thinking. But you were there all the time, weren't you, Snow?" she turned back to the wolf and hugged the big head. The wolf whined and licked her again.

                When she stood up her tunic was stained red with blood. Logan lunged for her. "Jubilee!"

                "It's not mine," she gasped, falling to one knee, "It's Snow's!"

                Logan looked down, and realized he hadn't missed when he shot after all. Snow's front leg hung awkwardly from his shoulder, and blood stained the fur. Jubilee took the hanging limb gently, and although Logan knew it had to hurt the wolf terribly, he didn't snap at or growl at the girl. He did, however, snap at Logan when he tried to come near.

                "Snow! Stop that. Logan's going to help you." She turned pleading blue eyes at him. "Won't you?"

                Logan hesitated. "Kid…Jubilee, look, I don't go huntin' wolves, but I ain't gonna help them neither; they raid my chicken yard too many times."

                "Snow won't hurt the chickens. I'll teach him not to. Please, Logan. He was my only friend before you. He's the only one who ever loved me." The wolf whined and licked her gently. "Please?" Logan hesitated.

                Jubilee turned to him. "_Please_, Logan. I'll…I'll do anything. I'll do all the chores. I'll cook for you and clean for you and anything you want me to do. I'll--" she swallowed convulsively, and dropped to the ground in front of him on her knees in the dust. "I'll wear the slave collar. I'll be your slave. Just…please, he's hurting, and I can't help him. Please, Logan."

                He couldn't stand that begging, pleading note in her voice. He hauled her roughly to her feet, pricked by sudden jealousy that she would offer such loyalty to a wolf, and wondering if she would ever care about him that much. "Don't kneel," he said. "I hate that! All right, I'll take care of yer blasted wolf. But if he gets in my chickens, yer the one's gonna haveta pay." He shook a finger at her as he went to his saddlebag for the emergency medicines and supplies he always carried with him.

                The morning sun found them making slow progress down from the foothills back to the ranch. Logan had bandaged the wounded leg as best as he could, but he couldn't retrieve the bullet until they got back. Molly objected strenuously to Jubilee's insisting that Snow be carried on her back, but Jubilee threatened the mare with her switch until the horse subsided. She allowed the wolf to be draped across her back with bad grace, and seemed to pick the rockiest ground to walk on to jar her patient.

                Jubilee had put her blanket on the horse's saddle before draping Snow's front legs over the right side. She tightened the rest of her pack straps, slung it over her back, and started to walk, grimly carrying the weight of her own pack and leading Molly. Logan had to admire her tenacity and stubbornness, but as the day wore on and her shoulders seemed to bow further with the weight, he finally lost patience with her stubbornness and stopped them. He took the pack from her and heaved it across Dark Star's saddle, and they went on.

                As soon as they got into the ranch yard Jubilee took the wolf off Molly's back gently and laid him on the ground. The animal seemed groggy, and lethargic, but still managed to raise his head and look after her as she disappeared outside. And when Logan started to kneel beside him to take a look at the wound, the wolf gave him a growl and a snap that clearly said 'stay away!'

                "Jubilee!" he called out the back door. "Get in here, yer blasted wolf ain't lettin' me look at him."

                She untacked Molly and stored her gear in the barn, then came running. With her holding the wolf's head and murmuring soft words to him, he got the bullet out, then cleaned and dressed the wound. The wolf whined, but didn't snap at the girl or growl at him. He seemed to understand Logan was trying to help him.

                Jubilee looked at the wolf as Logan stepped back. "What's that stuff you give me to make me go to sleep after a bad dream sometimes?" she asked him. He went and fetched a bottle of the medicine Red Doe had given him a few weeks ago. Jubilee had bad dreams sometimes, really bad ones that made her scream in her sleep. Logan would wake up in the middle of the night and walk around the partition to wake and soothe her, then he'd give her a cup with a few drops of the medicine in it to help her fall asleep.

                She mixed the medicine with the water, and dipped her fingers in it and held them to the wolf's lips. The wolf opened his mouth, and the fingers disappeared inside. Logan held his breath, but the fingers came out a few minutes later clean and unharmed. He raised an eyebrow. She must be used to doing this; both of them looked as though they were comfortable with the whole process. She carried the wolf into her side of the cabin after he finished all the drugged water, laid him down on the braided rag rug beside her bed, and came out wordlessly, going straight to her chores.

                When he had gotten his hands washed free of the wolf's blood he discovered that she'd done all the chores. She'd milked the cow, fed the pigs and chickens, watered the cows and horses, and even gotten dinner started. She ate quickly, waited until he was done, and took care of the dishes. He found himself with nothing to do, so he picked up a narrow strip of leather and started making a bridle. He was still at it later when she came in. She watched him for a moment, then went to her bed. When next he turned around, she was asleep.

                He looked at her thoughtfully. She was always helpful; but was this sudden helpfulness because she took the whole slave thing seriously? _Nah_, he decided, _probably not. Just thankful that I helped her wolf friend, is all._ He reached out to touch her cheek gently. In the month since she'd come, she had filled out nicely. She was perpetually hungry, but the food she ate was putting some agreeable curves on her body, in all the right places. She was beautiful, he realized suddenly. The brave had been right. And Running Wolf had been right. He was going to have a headache with the Indian braves knocking on his door.

                He went to his own bed, lay down, and stared at the ceiling. He didn't want to see her with an Indian, come to think of it. He was friends with them, and they were fine, but he didn't think an Indian man would ever understand how she needed to be treated, would never understand how being a former slave had scarred her soul. They didn't have slaves. They didn't even understand the concept. Would an Indian warrior wake up when she was in the middle of one of her bad dreams and go to her, stroke her hair, and comfort her? Would he hold her and rock her and soothe her while she cried until she went back to sleep? Or would he yell at her, call her a stupid white squaw, and beat her for waking him up? He wasn't sure he'd be able to stand that. But if that was what she wanted, he would give her to an Indian. He would do anything she wanted, he realized. He loved her. She truly was his daughter, in every way that counted except blood.

                He reached under his bed for the small wooden box he had kept for the last ten years, and opened it. Inside was an old black and white photograph of his wife, Annie, dead these ten years after giving birth to his blue-eyed baby girl. A little girl that had only lived two days after her mother had died, leaving a gap in his soul that ached so badly he'd left home to escape the memories and come out here. Here, where he'd found a blue-eyed child who needed him. And he'd needed her too, though he hadn't realized it. She filled that gap in his soul, eased the heartache he'd felt after Annie and Alice died.

                He closed the lid of the little box with a soft sigh and lay back on his bed, falling into a deep sleep. Two blue-eyed girls chased him through his dreams, laughing, one with black braids and one with blond curls.


	11. Understandings

Chapter 11: Understandings

He awoke to the sound of frightened, frantic squawking and Jubilee's shouting. Scrambling into his pants, he got up and went to the back door.

Jubilee was up already, and dressed. She had gotten up and taken care of the pigs and cows with Snow limping along behind her, and he hadn't bothered any of the other animals until she got to the chicken yard. When she slipped inside to gather the eggs and feed and water the chickens he'd gone inside enthusiastically and started to chase his breakfast. Jubilee had dropped the basket of feed and chased him around the yard, but she hadn't been able to catch him until he had a chicken in his mouth. Jubilee went pale as he heard the fragile neck snap between his teeth.

Logan heard it too. Howling in outrage, he stormed into the barn and grabbed the horsewhip, flew back outside and raised it, preparatory to beating the crap out of the wolf. The animal whined pitifully, as if it knew it had done something wrong, and dropped the dead chicken at his feet, but Logan was deeply enraged. He raised the whip.

A blur raced past him and flung herself down on top of the wolf. "Don't!" Jubilee flung one arm around the wolf's neck and the other out at Logan. "Don't! Please! He didn't know he wasn't supposed to eat them, I had to feed him on the chickens in the camp when there was nothing left! He didn't know! Please!" her face was stricken. Logan stood there, enraged, but the sight of those pleading eyes got to him. With a snarled curse, he flung the whip on the ground and slammed the cabin door behind him.

He lay on his bed for a long time, hoping she wouldn't come in until he'd calmed down. She didn't, but he could hear her voice outside, sometimes raised and sometimes lowered. Finally, curiosity got the better of him and he went to the back door, opening it a crack so he could see.

Jubilee had a rope tied around the wolf's neck. She was holding it in one hand and a chicken by the wing in the other. As Logan watched, she dragged the chicken in front of Snow. The wolf watched, his ears up and alert. He waited for about three minutes before lunging at the squawking bird. Jubilee let it flutter away while she took the end of the rope and smacked his nose. Logan heard the wolf's whimper from where he stood, and winced. That must have hurt. Jubilee snagged another chicken, and repeated the process.

It took an hour, and umpteen numbers of tries, but Logan was impressed when the wolf finally got the idea he wasn't supposed to make any kind of move toward the chickens. Jubilee tied the rope off to a post in the chicken yard, and started to feed the chickens in front of him. The wolf studied them casually, then turned away from them and licked his shoulder. Jubilee smiled and untied him, leading him out of the chicken yard. She took the end of the rope and led him into the barn, and Logan grinned as he returned to the bed and started getting dressed. The wolf was smart. And Jubilee had been right; she had taught him not to, and he had learned. Logan was pleased. Not many dogs, once they'd killed a chicken, would stop killing them; often they'd had to be destroyed.

He finished buttoning up his shirt and was just rising off the bed when the cabin door opened and Jubilee walked in. She was carrying his horsewhip. She held it out to him wordlessly, and when he took it, staring at it stupidly, she turned around and pulled the leather tunic over her head. Then she turned her back to him, pulled her braids forward over her shoulders, and stood quietly.

"What the hell?" he stared at the whip in his hand, and at her bare back. Was she _asking_ him to whip her? What the hell for?

"Snow killed one of your chickens," she said. "I made sure he won't do it again. But you said yesterday…if he goes after them…I'd have to pay." The voice wobbled a little, and trailed off, and the small shoulders squared as she braced herself for the blow she was sure was coming.

Logan stared. Yes, he'd been angry, angry enough to whip the wolf, but…her? Could he strike her? He stood there, knowing in his heart he couldn't. He saw the five white scar lines on her back, and in his mind he heard again her terrible, agonized screams as the Railmaster laid the long black bull whip across that thin, bony, sunburned back.

His breath caught in his throat with a sob, and he flung the whip away as if it were burning his hand. He grabbed her shoulders, spinning her around, and crushed her against him. "Jubilee…" he drew in a ragged breath, and tried again. "Jubilee, I would never…I could never…"

"But you said…" her voice was muffled against his shirt. "You said yesterday…when I asked you. I made a deal with you, I told you I'd be your slave if you'd help him…and you said 'all right, I'll take care of your blasted wolf, but if he gets into my chickens you're the one who's going to have to pay'." She twisted in his arms to look up at him. "That's what you said…I remember exactly…and then you did help Snow, and I figured the deal was made and you--"

Logan placed a finger on her lips and looked at her steadily. "Hush fer a moment. Listen ta me. I ain't never owned a slave. I never will. Just 'cause I paid the Railmaster for you doesn't mean yer a slave. Ta me, yer my daughter. Yer the daughter I never had. I don't care that ya ain't got papers ta prove it, yer free. Ya don't gotta make deals like that with me ta get me ta care fer you, or fer the stuff ya love too. Snow…well, I don't like wolves, an' that's a fact, but ya love him, an' ya care fer him, an' because yer important ta me he's important ta me too. And when ya said he was the only one who loved ya…well, I guess I just figured I'm gonna show ya that I love ya too, that I care 'bout ya an' yer important ta me too."

Tears filled her eyes. "You love me?"

Logan hugged her tightly again, sitting down on his bed as he did so. "Yeah. Yeah, I love ya. I'd do anythin' fer ya. If ya asked me ta go jump off a cliff, I'd probably do it." He looked at her. "Hey, don't cry."

"It's just…no one's ever said they loved me, except maybe Mama and Papa, and I don't remember them much, 'cept a little bit." She sniffed. "And no one hugs me like you. You've never touched me to hurt me, and I never felt a touch that didn't hurt. Maybe my parents, but I don't remember them so they don't count."

Logan sighed and pulled her to a sitting position beside him, then reached under the bed and took out the little box. "Look," he said, handing her the picture in it. "See this? This was my wife, Annie. We got married ten years ago. We was married for three years, and then she got pregnant. She had a lotta problems. She died giving birth to Alice, my little girl." His eyes misted with tears, and his voice got a little hoarse. "Alice lived two days after her ma died, and then she went too. I buried 'em both in the backyard of the family home. An' then I couldn't stand all the memories, an' I ran. I came out West here ta raise horses and make money an' get away from everything that 'minded me of 'em, and' I thought I was doin' pretty good till I seen you. Alice had yer same blue eyes, ya know? She was born with all these blond fuzzy curls on her head an' big blue eyes that made me feel like I was king o' the world." He swallowed hard, feeling his eyes burn with unshed tears. "Then she died, an' my heart died with her. I figured that was it, that I'd never love nobody again. An' I didn't, not till I saw ya lyin' there on the platform, and I felt somethin' stir down there where my heart used ta be. The next day, when I was ridin' inta town I heard yer screamin', and I got there in time ta see that bastard layin' that whip against yer back for the fourth time. And then ya broke the fifth time, and I heard ya beggin', and I couldn't stand it no more."

He was crying now, really crying, and Jubilee put her arms around him as he relived that terrible moment, that terrible day when she had almost died. "When I cut ya down offa that post ya wasn't breathin', an' all I could think 'bout was how much I'd make that bastard pay fer killin' ya. I was so relieved when ya sat up an' started cryin', an' I brought ya here. I didn't see yer eyes till Red Doe was here takin' care'a ya, an' it felt like I was lookin' at Alice again. I knew then that I loved ya."

Jubilee held him and let him cry. After all these years of mourning his wife and baby girl, the tears he couldn't shed then were now shed on the shoulder of a frail little girl. A girl who held him and stroked his hair, exactly as he did hers when she was upset, and whispered soft, soothing sounds in his ear.

Finally he sat up, wiped his eyes, and took the picture from her lap, dropping it back into the box. "Enough. Look at me, sittin' here cryin' like a girl." He smiled at her and tweaked her braids. "Hey. Wanna take a ride over ta Soarin' Eagle's camp an' claim yer horse?"

She rebounded quickly, as kids were wont to do. "Sure. I'll get Dark Star and Molly ready."

"Not Molly," Logan said quickly. "Get Dazzler. The big pinto?" At her surprised look he grinned. "Well, someone's gotta ride him over, an' I figure since yer gonna be ridin' his replacement, ya oughtta get some last minute ridin' practice in. Get goin', now." He smacked her rump playfully, and she squealed with laughter as she ran out the door.

He put the little box back under his bed, and went slowly across the room to pick up the horsewhip. He didn't use it often. Storm was the only one in his herd who'd felt the heavy braided leather thongs against his hide, and the only reason he'd felt it was because he was a wild stallion, untamed and never completely broken. Logan didn't want to break him. He wanted his horses to serve out of love and devotion and care, not because they were beaten into submission. Remembering the welts left on the horse's thick hide after the session that had finally taught Storm not to try and kill him, Logan winced at the marks it would leave on the kid's back if she got hit with it. He shuddered, threw the whip under his bed, and went out to see how she was doing with saddling the horses.

Soaring Eagle's herd was every bit as good as he had bragged over the deer. His camp was a little further away from the ranch than Running Wolf's, but looking at the herd that belonged to Soaring Eagle, he figured it was worth it. He spotted the perfect horse immediately; a pretty dark gray mare with small white spots, like snowflakes on a dark blanket.

Unfortunately Jubilee didn't agree. Her eye fastened on a tall, leggy stallion chivvying the herd along. "What about that one?" she pointed the horse out. Logan stared.

He was beautiful, a rangy, broad-chested horse with high withers and a broad back. A dished profile, high crest to his neck, and a coat that was the color of a jar of honey held up to the light. He was some horse; but Logan thought maybe he was too much horse for her. He said as much, but she wasn't listening.

Soaring Eagle stared at her. "You wish to try that horse?" he stared at her incredulously. She nodded, and he shrugged. "I will have Fighting Bear and Flying Hawk cut him out of the herd for you to try."

"Oh, don't bother," she said cheerfully. "I can get him myself." She hopped the fence into the horse corral with the rope bridle she'd brought, the bridle Logan used to train his horses to bridle and saddle.

Soaring Eagle jumped the fence too, and whistled. The buckskin he'd ridden the day before came trotting up at his call. Logan stared. "Mount your horse, friend. That horse she has chosen, we call him Thunderstorm because he is as untamed as a thunderstorm. None of us have been able to ride him. If she rides him it will be a miracle." Logan hurried to Dark Star.

With the enticement of a couple cubes of sugar, Jubilee got Thunder separated from the herd. He came willingly enough, seemed docile enough, but as she tried to get a rope halter over his head he reared away from her, almost striking her with hard, flinty hooves. She ducked out of the way, rolled, and came up holding the dangling end of the rope.

The horse took off, running across the pasture with her hanging onto the rope. She hung on, grimly determined not to let go. Dimly she could hear Logan behind her, his shouts almost unintelligible over the sound of Thunder's pounding hooves, but her stubbornness kept her hanging on.

Thunder finally tired at the far end of the pasture, and she stood, feeling an ache settle between her shoulder blades. "All right, boy," she said. "Now for the fun part." She climbed the fence carefully, making no sudden moves, and paused as he moved closer to the fence to lip at some grass. Then she launched herself at him, landing on his back and gripping the rope rein as she also filled her hands with mane. Her legs tightened as he took two short crowhops sideways.

He took off as though he'd been shot from a gun, bucking wildly, his rear legs flying up in the air at sudden, random intervals. Jubilee concentrated on the powerful, muscled body between her legs, feeling the subtle shift of his body under her as he prepared to buck again. As a result, when he gathered his muscles, she was ready for him, and she tightened her grip. Around and around the pasture they flew, him bucking, rearing, and twisting as he tried to unseat her. She hung on grimly, knowing that if he managed to dislodge her she would go down under his hooves and he would pound her to a pulp. This horse was one who would hold grudges.

As she tucked her face down into the mane to protect her eyes from the flying dust inside the corral, she saw the faint white line almost hidden in the neck hair. She sucked in a breath. So this horse had been abused too, just like she had. Horse's hides were tough; it took a lot to scar them. She felt a sudden pity for him. "Steady," she said aloud, not even realizing she was talking. "You don't want me up here; well, I sympathize. I'm not sure, now that I am up here, that I really want to either. But the only way down from here is falling, and I don't want to hit the ground that hard. Don't suppose you'd want to stop, would you?" The horse snorted. She grinned. "No, didn't think you would."

The horse's ears flicked, and his pace slowed a fraction. He was listening. She smiled. "I'm a slave too…or, well, I was. They did some awful things to me. I still have some really bad dreams about it all. I have scars on my back from where they beat me. So I know how that scar on your neck felt when it was first put there. And knowing that, I'll never use one on you, if you become my horse. Of course," and she smiled a little, "you could always stay here with the Indians and let them use their whips on you. I bet they tried to whip you into submitting, didn't they?" The horse's pace slowed again. "Good. Now we're getting somewhere. If you live with us, you're going to have a herd too, just like this one. Lots of girls for you to play with. Even Molly. She's my old ride. She's a fat, lazy, stupid girl. Maybe you could get her in shape when you get there, you know, chase her around a little, get her to develop some muscle. She's good at making little horses, Logan says, but not much else. And Logan will never whip you either. I handed him one earlier today and he still wouldn't hit me with it. He's a big ol' softie, and I love him. I'll do anything for him." She grinned. "So what about it? Wanna come live with us, where there's lots of girls and no whips? Or do you want to stay here with these ponies?"

And incredibly, with a last couple of hops, he came to a halt. He was blowing but not winded; breathing hard, but not exhausted. She patted his neck. "Good. I figured you'd see it my way when I explained it to you." She sat up straight, wiped her sweating brow, and touched her heels into his side. He walked around the corral in a circle, cooling off, and when he was dry she stopped him by the fence and climbed off.

Her legs were shaky when she hit the ground, but Logan was immediately beside her, holding her up, supporting her. "Hey," he whispered into her ear. "You are one incredible girl, ya know that?"

She grinned up at him, happy despite her exhaustion. "Why do you think you love me?"


	12. Thunder

Chapter 12: Thunder

                "You've given me a problem, you know," Logan grumped as they started on their way home.

                Jubilee looked at him wide-eyed. "What did I do?"

                "I ain't sure Storm's gonna like havin' another stallion around. He tolerates Dark Star here 'cause Star's a gelding, an' not a threat ta him an' the herd. Yer horse, on the other hand…" he raised an eyebrow as Thunder twitched an ear at him. "Thunder an' Storm's two of a kind. Cut outta the same cloth. Ain't neither one's gonna tolerate each other."

                Jubilee blinked. "Why not build a separate pasture for Thunder like you made one for Storm?"

                Logan almost groaned at the thought of cutting and carrying the rails for a whole new fenced pasture. "Kid, ya got any idea how much work that is?" he said, exasperated.

                "I'll help," she said in a small voice. Logan smiled and ruffled her hair.

                "Nah, ya don't gotta. I'm just grousin', is all." He shook his head at the thought of her struggling to drag a rail into place. "I'm jus' thinkin' o' all the work I'm gonna have ta do. I ain't real upset. An' it's worth it, thinkin' o that little Indian puppy's face when ya went up an' tol' him ya was gonna take Thunder."

                Jubilee wrinkled her nose. "What did he say? Was he mad? Should I have taken that mare you wanted me to take?"

                "Yeah, ya shoulda, but it's kinda late now. No, Soarin' Eagle was happy ta get this outlaw off his hands but he wasn't real happy that ya could ride Thunder when he couldn't. He says to me, 'Your daughter has much spirit. She and the horse belong together or he would never have let her ride him. They both will be happier with another brave, one who can tame the wildness in both.' Ya know what that means? Means he thinks yer too much woman fer him ta handle, and he ain't gonna come callin' here fer yer hand." Logan leaned back in the saddle. "That was worth everything I'm gonna have ta go through in order ta get this horse o' yers settled in."

                He stopped at the edge of a hilly meadow and dismounted. "We're gonna take a rest here," he said. "I'm gonna go get us some dinner. Can ya set up camp an' get a fire started?" She nodded, sliding off Thunder.

                He was up on another hill trailing a deer when he heard the sound of bits and spurs jingling. When he turned the corner around a tree, he saw three of the army's blue-coated soldiers riding bay horses down a deer trail.

                He tipped his hat to them, feeling uneasy, and was about to go on when the soldier in front said, "Stop a minute, friend. Where are you headed?"

                "Findin' my dinner," Logan said easily, though his muscles tensed under his shirt. What were soldiers doing out here?

                "Might you perhaps be the rancher John Logan? We stopped at his place back there, but it was empty." Logan was about to respond in the affirmative when he saw something in the man's saddlebag. It was the battered iron slave collar Jubilee had worn when he bought her.

                "If yer askin' the question means ya need the answer. What ya lookin' fer John for?" Logan narrowed his eyes.

                "We had reports he might be sheltering a fugitive slave over at his place. We looked in his cabin and found this." The man held up the slave collar. "We're from out of Fort Jackson; the man from Jackson who brought the news said he got it from someone over in Jonesboro whose slave had taken off. We don't know who it is or what he looks like. We're heading over to Jonesboro. But we thought we might just check and see if you'd seen any strange darkies around here."

                Logan relaxed. So they were looking for a black man. Good. He could hide Jubilee until he could get her papers. That suddenly became his number one priority. "Nope, ain't seen any 'scaped slaves round here," he said. "That there slave collar is from John's new girl, he's freed her."

                The soldier tipped his hat. "Mighty obliged to you, Mister," he said. "We'll just be on our way." The horses walked off down the deer trail as Logan turned Dark Star aside into a copse of trees. Dismounting, he sneaked back through the underbrush and tracked the three men until they were well past the place he'd chosen for their noon camp.

                Dinner forgotten, he went back to Dark Star and remounted. Taking a different track, he laid a wide trail back through the underbrush and vegetation until he broke out of the forest on Soaring Eagle's side. That ought to fool the soldiers. Then he retraced his steps to the shallow stream and rode Dark Star down the stream, which was fast-flowing enough to cover up his horse's tracks without roiling up the water, and came up out of the stream not two feet from the fire she had built.

                Despite his urgency, he had to stop and watch. Her hair had come undone, and streamed out behind her as Thunder galloped in circles around the glade. A distant part of his mind noted the horse's good qualities as the stallion ran, and was already figuring which mares he'd breed the stud to…but the main part of his mind was absorbed in the wonder and beauty of the girl in front of him. She had shed the horse's saddle, and was riding him bareback; he had a thin loop of rope around his upper jaw and run through his teeth, and she had the ends of the rope in her hands. The horse was responding to her body signals and voice only; he wore no tack, yet she was controlling him precisely. He felt a twinge. She was a wild girl. She belonged out here on a wild horse. She had no business wearing a slave collar and doing menial work.

                He hated to interrupt her, but he had to get her hidden. "Jubilee!" he called when she was close enough to hear him. With a whispered word to the horse, she turned him aside and stopped in front of him, her face lit from within by happiness. "Yes?"

                Logan's face turned grim. "Change of plans. We're headin' fer Running Wolf's camp, okay?"

                She smiled brightly, but there was worry in her eyes. "What's wrong?"

                "Nothin'," he said grimly. "Come on. Break camp."

                They reached Running Wolf's camp by late afternoon, and Running Wolf came to greet him. His eyes widened as he saw the stallion Jubilee was riding, and he hurried up to Logan's saddle. "Is that not Soaring Eagle's outlaw stallion, the one no one has been able to ride?"

                "Yeah," Logan grinned. "He was just waitin' fer the right person. C'mon, Running Wolf. I gotta talk ta you an' Red Doe 'bout something." He turned to Jubilee. "Play out here for a bit, okay?" She nodded, having no other choice. Half the Indian village's children were clustered around her and Thunder, and she couldn't have dismounted in the press even if she'd wanted to.

                Red Doe met them at the tent flap, noted the worried look on Logan's face instantly, and invited him in. Logan stepped in and turned to them. "There's soldiers out lookin' fer an escaped slave. I dunno if they lookin' fer Jubilee, or if they're lookin' fer another slave, but they went to my cabin and found her old slave collar. I wanna hide her here fer a few days while I get ta Jackson an' get the papers that'll make her a free woman. They ain't gonna look for her in an Indian camp. Will yoa do this fer me, old friend?"

                Running Wolf nodded. "Yes. We will be happy to have her as our guest for a couple of days. When will you return?"

                "Gonna get back ta the cabin tonight, start out tomorrow mornin', early. Be back tomorrow afternoon, at the latest. I'll come get her tomorrow evenin'. Can ya put her up fer that long?"

                "Yes. Logan, what should we tell her if she asks why you have gone?"

                "I'll talk ta her. I gotta go. Thanks, Running Wolf." Logan stepped out of the tipi and mounted Dark Star. At his approach the children scattered, and he reined in close to Jubilee. "Yer gonna stay here with Running Wolf and Red Doe tonight, okay? There's somethin' I gotta take care of, I'll be back fer ya tomorrow evenin'."

                She looked at him with those penetrating blue eyes, and saw the tale in his eyes that he didn't want to tell her. "He's looking for me." It was a statement, said in a low whisper that conveyed her terror. Logan reached out suddenly and crushed her to him in a fierce hug.

                "I don't know if he's lookin' fer ya or another slave. But I wanna be safe. I'm ridin' into town ta pick up freedom papers an' I'll bring em' back fer ya. In the meantime, I don't want them ta find ya at the cabin and jump ta conclusions. Stay here, okay? You'll be safe with them. If soldiers come here lookin' fer ya, Running Wolf will hide ya. I'll be back fer ya tomorrow evenin', I promise. Will ya stay here, an' listen ta them, an' be good?"

                She nodded, eyes big, and hugged him tightly, fiercely, back. Then she kissed his cheek gently. He brushed his lips against the top of her head and turned Dark Star around, heading for home. She watched him leave, then dismounted and walked after Running Wolf to the herd of Indian ponies.

                Logan took his time getting back, letting Dark Star choose his own pace and turning the horse around in wide circles, wandering up and down deer paths until he was sure no one would be able to follow his backtrail back to the Indian camp. When he finally came in sight of his cabin he was tired and looking forward to going home.

                Then he saw the light inside his cabin.

                He almost turned and rode away, but he was hungry, Dark Star was thirsty, and the animals needed to be watered and fed. He went in the gate, closed it, and started untacking Dark Star. The horses in the corral whinnied a greeting to him, and Snow barked from the barn where he'd been tied earlier.

                The cabin door opened, and a head poked out. Logan tensed. It was Hunt.

                "So the missin' rancher finally returns," drawled the general store manager. "Hey, stranger. Been a while since we seen your mug around town."

                Logan growled low in his throat as he went on rubbing down Dark Star with a burlap sack. "Didn't wanna go back," he said angrily. "Not after what all happened the last time I was there."

                Hunt sighed. "That was a little much," he said. "That Railmaster's one mean bastard, I'll tell you for nothing. I don't like him, I just figure it wasn't none o' my business. Then some soldiers ride into town about maybe an hour ago, and they said they heard about an escaped slave. That Railmaster, he went out and talked to them, and they showed him the slave collar you got off her. He tells them that's the slave he's looking for, that she escaped. I figured I'd bring you some stuff you might need, 'cause you're going to want to steer clear of town fer a while." He gestured to the sacks of flour, sugar, salt, and coffee sitting by the door. "And this," he dug an envelope out of his pocket and held it out. Logan took it from his hand before the older man could say anything, and looked in it. "These are…" He couldn't say a word for a moment.

                "Papers," Hunt said. "Papers that says she's free."

                Logan narrowed his eyes as he shoved the envelope in his pocket. "Why ya doin' all this, Hunt? What's in it for you?"

                Hunt spread his hands wide. "Who says I want nothin'?"

                "'Cause ya never do nothin' 'less it'll profit ya some way."

                The man grinned. "Yeah, ya caught me. So yeah, there's a favor I want ya ta do me in turn for them papers. I paid for 'em, ya know. A dollar."

                "Ya want the money back?" Logan was about to reach into the jar he kept his money hidden in (well, a portion of it) but Hunt stopped him. "Naw, don't want money."

                "What do ya want then?"

                "Well…" Hunt stopped. "Well, I seen you ain't gone to visit Miss Becky's since you got the girl here. I figure if you're not getting it from Miss Becky's, you're getting it here from _her._ What I wanted to ask was if you'd let me spend a little time with her here in exchange for them papers. Not a lot, just an hour or so every couple of weeks. I figure she's got to be grateful to you for rescuing her from that Railmaster enough to obey you when you tell her she's got to split her time between you and me--"

                Seconds later Hunt was sitting dazedly on the ground in front of Logan's cabin door, and Logan was standing over him furiously rolling up his sleeves. "What, ya been starin' at Elizabeth Redmond long 'nuff that yer hungerin' fer little girls an' ya figure I'll be happy 'nuff ta have my supplies delivered that I'll order my daughter ta spread her legs fer ya? Yer disgustin'." He went back in, dug three dollars out of his jar, and came back out, throwing them at Hunt. "Here. Fer the groceries and fer the papers. Git on out of here, and don't come back. I never wanna see ya again."

                Hunt grabbed the money, stuffing it into his trouser pockets as he stood up. "Look, I understand if you want to keep her for yourself. But maybe you won't mind if I watch sometime?"

                Logan grabbed the man's collar and gave him a hard shove, sending him through the gate into his property. "Get the hell offa my property," he growled. "I ain't never touched her like that. She's fourteen, for God sakes. She ain't old enough ta be used like that, an' even if she was I wouldn't _let_ her sleep with the likes o' _you_. Not that she'd _ever_ touch ya anyway. I adopted her, she's my daughter now, an' thanks ta these papers ya brought, she's a free girl and ain't nobody gonna touch her 'thout her wantin' that touch. Git off my land, Hunt. I don't never wanna see ya again." Logan turned and headed back into his cabin.

                Hunt ran toward the gate and rattled it angrily. "She's still a slave till those papers get filed! I can still order her to take me, and she'll have to obey or I'll give her a whippin'!"

                Logan grabbed his gun and ran back outside. "Come anywhere near her, ya ain't never touchin' no woman with that ugly thing o' yers again! Ya ain't touchin' her!" He cocked his rifle and fired at the ground between Hunt's legs, causing the man to stumble back a few steps. "Now git on outta here!" Hunt turned, scrambled on his old horse, and headed off into the night.

                Logan returned to the cabin, almost too angry to speak. He'd known Hunt liked his girls young; he'd never dreamed the man would take his girls as young as Jubilee was. He grabbed the sacks and moved them out of the way for a time, then reached up on a shelf and got down his quill pen and a bottle of ink. Pulling the lamp close to him, he looked at the printing on the sheet of paper.

                "'Name of Slave Being Freed'," he read. Carefully he wrote 'Jubilation Lee' in the blank, then went on down the page, filling in the blanks. Several questions stumped him. "Height? Weight? Beats the hell outta me," he grumbled, but took a guess and filled it in. "Identifying scars/marks? Well, she's got a whole lot of em on her, and they ain't all gonna fit in this little space." He finally put 'five whip lashes on back' in the blank, then signed his name in the blank for 'owner of slave' and did the same to the copy that was to be filed. Then he sat back, satisfied, feeling a great weight lift from his shoulders. He'd go and get her tomorrow, have her sign her name to the paper, and take them to the registrar's office in Jackson. Then she'd be free.

                He did the rest of his chores quietly, cooked himself a quick mess of flapjacks and bacon, then went to bed, hoping the morning would hurry up and come.


	13. Learning

Chapter 13: Learning

                Hunt swore angrily and applied the whip to his horse's side again. How dare…Logan was _refusing_ to allow him access to the little slant-eyed slave? He'd show the uppity rancher. Just because the man bred horses and sold them for more money than Hunt could imagine, that didn't give him a right to refuse a favor, especially when Hunt had done him a favor.

                "'Ain't touched her'. Sure he's touched her. More than once, I bet, for all that they got separate beds in there. Man like John Logan don't avoid a whorehouse unless he's getting it somewhere else." He snarled.

                The moon was rising when he rode into the town limits. He was passing the house of the Railmaster (the man had finished his section of the railroad, taken his pay, and settled down right there in town) and saw the light on. A sudden thought made Hunt rein his horse in and stop in front of the Railmaster's house. "Hey!" he called. "Anybody home?"

                The Railmaster came out onto his porch, squinting. "Hey yourself,' he slurred, clearly inebriated. "Sort of late for a friendly visit, isn't it?"

                "Got some information for you," Hunt said. "'Bout that little girl John Logan took from you."

                The man's eyes sharpened, as did his voice. "Don't even mention him unless you got a way I can get her back," he threatened.

                Hunt nodded. "That's what I'm sayin,' he said. "But ya better move fast. I did a dumb fool thing buyin' freedom papers for John Logan's slave thinkin' he'd be so grateful for 'em he'd tell her to open her legs for me."

                The Railmaster opened his door wider. "Come in. Tell me what happened." Hunt climbed the steps into the house, and sat down on the chair he was offered.

                "I went out to John Logan's this afternoon when I seen you talking to the soldiers," he said without preamble. "Took some supplies since he hadn't come in a while, and I bought a copy of free papers to take to him. I thought maybe he'd let me spend some time with the girl in return for them papers; after all, she's still legally his slave, and she has to obey him in everything." Hunt snorted. "Was I ever wrong! Logan says he never touched her like that, and he threatened to shoot Little Hunt off if I ever touched her."

                The Railmaster looked at him as he poured himself another glass of whiskey. "Was the girl there?"

                Hunt shook his head. "Didn't see her there," he said. "But Logan got another bed in another room of his cabin, and it's short enough for the girl. And there's a chest at the foot of her bed full of women's things." He still remembered picking the tiny under drawers out of the chest and thinking about the girl wearing them. "She's probably visiting some Indian friends of his. I know he's got them, they visit him sometimes." He made a face. "You'd think if he's giving her to them redskin bucks he'd let a decent white man like me get at her before he frees her. But no." Hunt drained his glass sourly.

                The Railmaster leaned back in his chair, smiling. "Here's the thing, my friend. He can't free her. When I brought her into town I had the smith brand her as a body slave for life. Once she got branded there isn't no way she can be freed unless she heads up north to the Frenchies in Canada. The question will come up when they go in to file the papers, and they won't grant her freedom because she's branded. I don't think Logan knows that."

                Hunt grinned. "She's branded? She's a body slave for life? I can order her to open her legs, and she has to do it?"

                The Railmaster grinned. "If we play our cards right, my friend, I'll get her back and she's yours whenever you want her. All you'll have to do is come to my door and knock, and you can have her anytime."

                Hunt's eyes glittered. "Yeah. So how we gonna do it?" They bent their heads together to plan.

                Logan frowned as he rode up the next morning. For a moment he didn't see Jubilee. Then as his eyes wandered down to a group of Indian youths in the meadow beside the riverbank, he saw her. She was on Thunder, apparently racing some of the other boys and girls. Thunder was far in the lead and the gap between him and the next closest horse was widening. She reached the tree that was apparently the end of the race, and tagged it with her hand before turning around and heading back. Her happy laugh floated back toward him as she passed the two youths on her way back to where the other kids were gathered.

                She got there first, flushed and happy, and was immediately surrounded by a group of laughing girls. The boys hung back a little, glowering, but finally came forward and congratulated her too. One boy reached into his hair, took out a large, beautiful eagle feather, and stuck it in one of her braids. She laughed.

                Running Wolf walked over, turned to look in the direction Logan was looking in, and smiled. "Our girls got into an argument with the boys," he said. "That her horse would beat Little Bear's horse. He denied it, so she challenged him. She has won." He smiled. "The children have given her an Indian name. She is now Sky Eyes."

                She saw him, and waved. A quick word, and she guided Thunder through the crowd of kids and raced up to him. Half of her hair was in braids, the rest flowed behind her in a midnight river. Except for the color of her skin and the shape of her eyes, you wouldn't be able to tell her apart from the other youths. "Having fun?" he teased her, tugging on one of her braids, the one with the feather in it.

                "Everything's so great," she gushed. "It's so much fun here, I wish I could live like this all the time. I have an Indian name now, too! They gave it to me. They call me Sky Eyes."

                Logan grinned. "I'm glad yer havin' fun." He said. "I got somethin'll make ya even happier." He dug the papers out of his shirt pocket and handed it to her. "Here ya go."

                She took it, unfolded the papers. Her eyes roved over it, and then she said, "What is it?"

                Logan blinked. "Ya can't read?"

                Her face went dark pink under her tanned skin, and she dropped her eyes. "No."

                Logan ruffled her hair. "Don't worry. I'll teach ya how ta read. But these're your papers. Yer a free woman soon's we get ta Jackson. I already signed off on 'em, so all ya gotta do is write yer name under mine." He saw her look. "Don't worry. I'll teach ya how ta write yer name. The readin' we can work on later."

                She bounced. "Can we go home now?"

                "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, we can go home now. Fact, we better go home 'fore Red Doe decides she don't wanna give ya back." He ginned at the Indian woman coming up with a bundle of things.

                "Just a few things a _woman_ needs," Red Doe said at his look. "Nothing much. Remember what we talked about, all right, Sky Eyes?" she patted the girl's cheek as Running Wolf fastened the pack to the back of the saddle.

                Jubilee nodded, and Logan suppressed his curiosity. He'd talk to her bout it later. Right now he had other things he wanted to do. Like get to the magistrate in Jackson. "C'mon, kid. Let's get goin'."

                He told her about the visit the night before from Hunt, carefully editing out the part where Hunt had asked him to tell her to sleep with him. He'd never agree to letting anyone between her legs unless that was what she wanted. And it wasn't likely.

                They went home, and Logan took both horses into the yard.  She unsaddled Thunder, and he untacked Dark Star; then he led both to the horse pasture and opened the gate.

                Dark Star went through first, then sped off for the far side of the pasture as Storm saw the new stallion and came racing up, stiff-legged, his entire body tense. This new stallion was a definite threat to his herd, and he was prepared to defend it at all costs.

                Thunder reared, ripping the lead rope out of Jubilee's hand, ignored her shout, and lunged for the other stallion. They met in the middle of the field in a crash of heavy bodies and flying hooves. They rose on their hind legs together, striking out at each other with hard, flinty hooves, and Logan winced as he heard Storm scream in challenge to the other horse.

                Jubilee was suddenly ducking under the fence, and Logan moved just a bit too late to stop her. "Jubilee!" he shouted as he saw her running straight for the battling stallions. "God dang it, girl, do ya wanna get yerself killed?!" He started to scramble under the fence after her.

                She reached the stallions first, and grabbed Thunder's dangling lead rope. He heard her shout something at him, and saw her jerk hard on the rope. Thunder didn't like it, and laid back his ears as he snapped at her. She raised her hand and slapped him on the nose. Logan saw the horse back away, shaking his head, looking extremely surprised. Jubilee didn't pause. She stepped deliberately between the two horses, shouting something at both of them. Storm hesitated, as if fighting the lessons he'd learned about not attacking humans and wanting to go tear into his rival, and then obeyed instinct and stepped forward.

                A white blur streaked past Logan and into the middle of the corral. When he reached the group in the middle of the field, Snow stopped in front of Storm, teeth bared, snarling and growling. Storm stopped dead. Snow snarled, then gave a short, sharp bark. Storm turned around and loped for the far side of the pasture. Jubilee slipped the lead rope off Thunder's neck and was coiling it when Logan finally reached her. "Are you crazy?" he yelled at her as he reached out an engulfed her in a huge hug. "They could have killed you! If Snow hadn't interfered they might have!"

                She twisted her head up to look at him. "I scared you."

                "Damn right you did," he snapped as he hugged her tightly.

                "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know how much you care about Storm, and how important he is. I just didn't want Thunder to hurt him."

                Logan sighed. "I swear my heart almost stopped," he grumbled.

                Jubilee looked at the three pastures. "Look, if you put Storm and half of the mares in the mare pasture, and Thunder and half of the mares in the other one, and leave the mares in foal in the third one, then they won't fight over whose band it is, because each stallion will have his own girls. Do you think that would work?"

                Logan stared at her in astonishment. It was a neat solution to how he was going to establish a line of Thunder's foals in the herd. He grinned. "Smart kid. Yeah, that'll work. Let's do that."

                It took most of the rest of the day to separate the herd into two groups, and run them into the separate pastures, but it was well worth it. Storm did give Logan a dirty look when he saw some of the mares in Thunder's pasture, but a few lumps of sugar eased the transition for both, and as the sun went down Logan and Jubilee went into the cabin, tired but happy.

                Logan made a hearty stew while she changed and took care of her nightly business. It took a bit longer this time than usual, and he was about to ask her why when he saw the pack Red Doe gave her open on her bed. There were a large number of clouts in there, and as he looked at them Logan realized they were the Indian version of what women wore during their monthlies. He grinned as he returned to his cooking. She was a woman now, not a girl. Well, he'd been expecting this to happen soon; her tunics had been getting a little tight across the chest lately. He also understood why Red Doe had given her the elaborately decorated tunic; among the Indians, a girl becoming a woman was a cause for celebration. He smiled.

                After they were done dinner Logan took a burned stick and a piece of burlap, and gestured her over. She watched intently as he wrote out the alphabet on the smooth floorboards in front of the fire. "This is the alphabet," he said. "These twenty-six letters, in different combinations, make every word in English language." He proceeded to name each letter, waiting for her to say them after him. She repeated each letter obediently.

                He had her memorize each letter, surprised at how quickly she learned them. She was a quick study. Then he rubbed out the writing on the floor with the piece of burlap, and wrote his name on the floor. "What's this letter?" he asked her, pointing.

                "An 'L'," she said.

                "This one?"

                "An 'O'. That's a 'G', that's an 'A', and that's an 'N'."

                He smiled. "All right. Put the sounds together. Just like beads on a string." Jubilee fingered the beaded necklace Red Doe had given her, and smiled.

                "L-l-l, oh, ga, nnn," she sounded out carefully, then repeated the sound. She looked up at him, delighted. "That's your name!"

                "Sure is," he said, equally delighted that she'd figured that out already. "Try this." He wrote her name on the floor.

                "G…no, that's a J, so it's 'juh'," she frowned. "Juh, oo, bbah, ll, ee," she said. "That's my name. Jubilee!"

                "Got it!" Logan clapped his hands together. "Doin' good, kid. Try this." He wrote out her full name on the floor, and she puzzled over it for a few minutes.

"Jubilation Lee," she finally said, smiling. "That's my full name."

He wrote her name again, this time using lowercase letters after the capitals, and then had to explain lowercase letters. She seemed to have trouble with that concept. "I don't understand," she said, frustrated. "Why do they have to have two of the same letter? If they both sound the same, why does each one look different? Like 'A' and 'a'.  'C' and 'c' look alike, and 'O' and 'o', but 'D' and 'd' don't look alike, and 'I' and 'i' look different too."

Logan shook his head. "I don't know why, kid, we just do. Ask Webster why there are two of each letter."

She frowned. "Who's Webster?"

"He wrote a big book that has all the words we use in it, and what each word means. It's called a dictionary." He saw her puzzled look, and shook his head. "It's okay. Never mind."

She looked at the paper she pulled out of the Indian medicine pouch around her neck. "When you signed the bottom with your name it doesn't look like the one you wrote here," she said, puzzled. "Can you teach me why this one looks so much prettier?" she pointed to the paper.

"Prettier?"

"Well, this one's got all kinds of curlicues and curves, and this one," she pointed to the floor "looks like sticks. I want to write like this, all the pretty curves." Logan glanced at his signature. He wouldn't call it pretty, but…he shrugged and taught her how to read and write cursive.

They kept at it long into the night, he surprised by her tenacity, and he got a piece of wood for her to practice writing her name on before she finally signed her name to the bottom of the document, in shaky but legible script, at the bottom of the page that would set her free.


	14. The Magistrate

Chapter 14: The Magistrate

"Please?"

Logan shook his head firmly. "No. Ya can't. Yer goin' ta tell 'em yer a free woman, that ya wanna become part of society and yer gonna be a decent citizen. As comfortable as Indian clothes are, ya can't wear 'em into town. Go put a dress on." She pouted, but went behind the wall to change as he dug into his chest for his good trousers and shirt. A sudden thought made him call after her, "And put them extra skirts and them white britches underneath!"

Her head poked around the wall just as he was pulling on his pants, and he spun quickly so she wouldn't see anything that wasn't suitable for a young girl to see. She laughed at him. "I know what a man looks like, Logan," she said. "The boys at the Indian camp don't wear hardly anything, and the slaves--" her eyes clouded, and she trailed off. "Well, I know what men look like," she said finally.

"Still ain't proper,' he said, holding his shirt around his waist to keep her from seeing his backside too. "Go get dressed."

"Do I _have_ to wear those funny white pants and all those extra skirts?" she groaned. "They're not comfortable for riding in."

"I got a sidesaddle out in the barn from a trade a long time ago," he said. "Yer ridin' that. And yer ridin' Molly today; don't want ta shock all them folks back in town when they see a girl up on a wild stallion."

Jubilee giggled, and he sighed. He _really_ wanted her to get her head back in her room so he could pull his pants the rest of the way up. "Thunder isn't wild," she informed him. "He just didn't want to be ridden by a boy who'd use a whip."

"Whatever," he said, putting a growl in his voice so she'd know he meant business. "Git on back in there and finish dressin'." Her head obediently popped back around the wall, and he hurriedly finished dressing before she could stick her head around the wall again. A door. He definitely had to put a door in here somewhere. As soon as he got back, he had to put a door in here. First thing.

They were finally dressed, more or less. Logan sent Jubilee back into the cabin to put her hair in two decorous braids instead of the small ones among the loose hair the Indians favored. He also told her to take the feathers and beads out of the braids. He didn't think that would go over well.

She came out, dragging her bonnet in the dust, and Logan groaned when he saw the moccasins. Oh well. She didn't have proper shoes. He'd have to buy her some. He went back into the house and got more money from under the floorboards, tucked it in his pants pocket, and mounted Dark Star, then told her how to get on a sidesaddle. Finally, after a lot of fussing, she got herself settled. Molly seemed irritated by the sidesaddle, and the weight distributed unevenly on her back, but after a couple of sharp smacks she submitted to being ridden in what she clearly considered an undignified position. Jubilee didn't go for her switch, and Logan rather suspected she sympathized with the horse. He sympathized too. That sidesaddle looked damned uncomfortable to be sitting _on_, much less _under_, but he was determined she would make a good first impression.

Jackson was a good distance further from Jonesboro, but Logan was determined he was going there. He wasn't on real good terms with the magistrate in Jonesboro, having caught the man cheating at the poker table at Miss Becky's one day. The man would refuse to stamp Jubilee's papers out of sheer spite, and Logan was determined Jubilee would be a free woman by the time they got home that night.

They stopped twice that morning for a break so Jubilee could splash her face with cold water at the streams they came to. It wasn't especially hot, but the layers of clothing she wore were definitely uncomfortable. He was getting itchy under his clothes too. He could see why Red Doe scoffed at the white woman's clothes. It all seemed like unnecessary cloth to him.

They rode into Jackson early that afternoon, and Jubilee looked around with wide eyes. Logan was a little surprised too. The last time he'd been here a year ago, the town had been a little bigger than Jonesboro (there were two general stores, one for food and consumables, the other one for clothes and shoes and leather goods) and it had boasted two whorehouses. Now there were three general stores, and three whorehouses, one for white girls, one for black and mulatto girls, and one with Indian and a couple of girls who looked like Jubilee, except without the blue eyes. Logan thought that was a waste. Why not just have the girls all in one place? If a guy got a hankering to try a different kind of girl, he'd have to get up and go halfway across town to the other one. It didn't make sense. He sighed.

Fort Jackson was just outside town; the town wasn't built up right against the walls, but at the rate it was going it looked like it was going to be mighty soon. He had to walk the horse up and down Main Street a couple of times before he found the magistrate's office. Funny. Every town he'd ever been in had the magistrate's office beside the jail. Not in Jackson. The building marked town jail was all the way at the end of the street. Shaking his head at the idiocy of it, he dismounted Dark Star in front of the office and tethered the black to the hitching post in front of the door. Jubilee had, by this time, seen a couple of girls in front of the general store dismount, and Logan was pleasantly surprised when she stopped daintily by the mounting block, stepped down without ruffling so much as a hair or dislodging her bonnet, and stepped into the office demurely after him.

There were a couple of chairs around the sides of the room, and people were sitting around in them waiting. Logan blinked as a man came up and said, "Name and business?"

"John Logan, I'm tryin' ta get a stamp on the papers freein' a slave girl."

The man looked at him, past him to the quiet, neatly-dressed girl behind him, and nodded. "You got the original papers?"

"Huh?"

"When you got the papers you should have gotten one for the court and one for the slave to keep to prove they're free. Do you have both?"

"Oh, yeah." Logan produced the second piece from his pocket. The first one was in Jubilee's medicine bag, tucked under her dress. The man took it, nodded, and said, "Take a seat. She stands, she's a slave. You, girl, over there in the corner." He pointed. Logan growled.

The man looked startled. "Sir, she's still a slave, she's not free until the magistrate pronounces judgment. Please go sit there." he indicated one of the chairs. Logan went and sat down, but he didn't feel comfortable seeing her standing silently in the corner. Finally he got up and went to stand over next to her. She looked nervous, and he put an arm around her shoulders. To hell with what anyone else thought.

It seemed like an eternity before the magistrate came out of a little back room and sat down behind the big desk. He grabbed a hammer and banged it on the desk twice. "Court is now back in session," he declared. Logan thought that was unnecessary; the judge just came in, hadn't he?

The man who had taken Logan's paper came forward and handed the folded piece to the judge. "First case is a Mr. John Logan, wishing to set free his slave Jubilation Lee," he told the judge. The judge scanned the paper. "All interested parties, step forth," he said loudly. Logan led Jubilee forward and stood behind a battered wooden rail in front of the judge.

"You are Mr. John Logan?" Logan nodded. "And this is the slave in question?" Logan nodded again. The judge spoke sharply. "Mr. Logan, a nod is insufficient answer. Please respond verbally. Are you the owner of this slave?"

"Yes, Yer Honor," Logan said clearly. Damn, this was a waste of time. That was what it said on the paper, wasn't it? All the judge had to do was write his name on the last blank at the top of the page and he and Jubes could go home.

"And this slave is yours, free and clear, and there is no question of ownership?"

"Yes Yer Honor--" Logan started to say.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Your Honor," said a smartly dressed, uniformed man standing up from where he was sitting in the back of the room. "But this slave is a runaway, and Mr. John Logan is not her true master." Logan spun around, staring in disbelief.

"I have a report here of a slave who ran away from her master about a month and a half ago, from the neighboring town of Jonesboro," the army officer said, taking his hat off and facing the judge, ignoring Logan's stare. "The description of the slave matches the girl standing here. Moreover, the slave's master informs me that the slave is a branded body slave and therefore cannot be freed. The disputed slave is a slave for life." Logan stared at the man.

"Is this true?" the judge said. "Did you receive this slave as stolen property, and does this slave indeed bear a brand? Do you have a bill of sale?"

"I didn't get a bill of sale, it was a verbal agreement, an' everybody in town who was watchin' can witness she's mine. I ain't never seen a brand," Logan said, "But she most certainly does belong to me, I paid for her! Who's lyin' ta you?" he turned to the officer.

The judge looked down at Jubilee, standing trembling next to Logan. "Have you been branded, slave? I order you to speak!"

Jubilee's terrified whisper could be clearly heard in the suddenly silent courtroom. Everyone was sitting up straighter. This was a disruption in the normal routine of things. "What's branding, Sir?" she whispered.

The judge frowned. "Is she stupid? Feeble-minded?"

Logan fought down the angry words that threatened to escape. Losing his temper now was not going to get them home any faster. "She ain't stupid, Yer Honor." He turned to Jubilee. "Brandin's when someone takes a hot piece o' metal and pushes it against the skin till it leaves a permanent mark. Ya seen the mark on my cows? That number on the rump? That's a brand."

Her face went white under its healthy summer tan. "I have one," she croaked, her words barely audible. "But it's not a number, it's one of those letters you showed me last night. An 'S'. The Railmaster had the smith burn me with it when he put the collar on me."

Logan's face was a mask of rage and anguish. She was branded. She could never be freed. She was going to be a slave for the rest of her life. "Why didn't ya tell me?" he croaked.

She saw the look on his face, and tears flowed from her blue eyes. "I didn't know what it was for," she wailed. "Please, Logan, please don't be mad at me!"

He wrapped his arms around her. "I ain't mad," he said. "We'll just have ta find another way, is all." He would. There had to be another way.

"Where is this brand? Show it to me." The magistrate commanded.

Jubilee went even whiter. "Please," she choked out. "Please, he…he put it…he put it on my…" she whispered in Logan's ear.

Logan went white with shock, then red. So that was why he hadn't seen it, and also why she had rubbed her lower belly in her sleep. "Yer Honor," he said firmly, "She says the brand was placed on a sensitive part o' her body, and she don't wanna disrobe ta display it in front o' everyone here."

The magistrate shook his head. "The slave's wants is not relevant," he said. "She must display it to the court for visual proof. You will order her to display the brand."

Jubilee looked stricken, and Logan ground his teeth. "Yer Honor, ain't no way I'm gonna order her ta take her clothes off just ta satisfy yer interest. If she says it's there, it's there. Think she's gonna fergit somethin' what hurt that bad?"

The judge leaned forward. "You are refusing to obey my order to tell her to disrobe?"

Logan folded his arms. "Damn right."

The judge tapped the hammer on the desk. "So noted. Bailiff, let the record show that John Logan is sentenced to ten lashes in the public square for civil disobedience. Let the record also show that _I_ am now ordering the slave to present her brand for inspection."

There was a tiny cry from Jubilee. She stepped forward and clung to Logan's arm. "No! You can't whip him! Please!"

Logan was indignant. "You can't do that!"

"I can and I have," the judge said calmly. "Now, slave, you are ordered to present your brand to the court for inspection. This is the fourth time I have ordered you to do so. You have disobeyed three prior direct orders. You will stand in the pillory for three hours following this proceeding, and receive six strokes of the lash upon your back. If you refuse again I shall order three more lashes and another hour in the pillory. Now display your brand for the court."

Jubilee was shaking. She gave Logan an anguished look, but her fingers went to her skirt hem and she began to remove her clothing. Logan pressed his lips together. "Yer Honor, I have told her she ain't supposed ta disrobe in front o' anyone. She was only followin' my order. She don't deserve ta be punished. Don't have her whipped." He swallowed hard. "Please." He hated begging, but to spare her any more pain and humiliation he would do it.

He might as well have saved his breath. The judge merely looked at him. "She still disobeyed my order. You will not save her from a public lashing, sir, so I suggest you hold your tongue before you bring any additional punishment upon yourself. A slave isn't worth it."

Jubilee pulled the rest of her underskirts out from beneath her dress and then pulled her white pantaloons off too. A lot of bare leg showed as she raised her skirt, then she slowly pulled down her underdrawers. Inside them was a lot of bloodstained rags, and her face was red with shame. Logan sucked in his breath. He'd forgotten this was her woman's time.

The judge said, "I cannot see over the rail. Come up here." Jubilee went even redder, but with a look at Logan, she stepped out of her skirts and pantaloons, then walked carefully out to the center of the courtroom. The judge bent forward, peered over, and said, "I see the brand. Bailiff, would you witness please?" The man stepped forward and looked closely at the front of Jubilee's hip, under her raised skirt. "I see the brand, sir."

Logan felt like he was going to be sick. Jubilee, his little Jubilee, had been branded on the thin, sensitive skin inside of her hip. How much must that have hurt? He couldn't imagine.

The judge rapped the hammer on the desk again. Logan wanted to take that hammer and smash it into that pompous face. "Slave is branded for life, and freedom is hereby denied." He ripped up the piece of paper on his desk. Jubilee's face went white as she stepped back behind the rail and quickly started to dress.

"Slave, were you told to dress?" he asked coolly. Jubilee froze. "Were you told to dress?" he repeated.

"No," she whispered.

The judge rapped that damn hammer again. "Slave will spend four hours in the pillory. Slave will also receive six lashes upon her back for disobeying my earlier order to disrobe. Sentence to be carried out immediately following the punishment of her master. Upon completion, the slave will be taken to the town jail while this court investigates John Logan's claim that the slave Jubilation Lee is rightfully is. So noted."


	15. Sentence

Chapter 15: Sentence

Remy LeBeau gritted his teeth in anger as he saw the bailiff take the arms of the man behind the rail. The little girl beside him reached out to him, tears streaming down her face, and grabbed his hand. "Logan, please!" She tried to cling to his hand, but the army officer grabbed her firmly around her waist and dragged her away. The court watched with held breaths as both girl and man were dragged off in opposite directions. The girl was kicking, struggling, crying in anguish as she was pulled backward. "Logan!" she shrieked. "Logan…Papa…oh, mister, please, please, don't hurt him, mister, please don't hurt him!" Her anguished pleas trailed off as the army officer wrestled her out the side door. Through the window in the wall, he could see the child being forced to undress until only her white shift and her pantaloons were left. Her dress was taken from her roughly, and then she was marched back through the courtroom and out to the town square's pillory. Her petticoat was still lying on the floor behind the rail, and he took a moment to scoop them up as he passed. Everyone in the courthouse was heading out to the town square.

The man, John Logan, was already stripped to the waist. The town's sheriff was tying rope around his wrists in front of him, and now was pulling the rope through the ring at the top of the post. Remy winced. He knew what was going to happen, knew what it was going to feel like. The man was twisting, straining to look behind him, at the child who was being forced to put her head and hands in the indentations in the bottom half of the pillory. The top half was then brought down and locked into place. "Don't worry about me!" the man shouted to the child, who was still crying for her papa. "Try to bear it. I'm sorry, Jubilee!" Then a leather-wrapped wooden bit was shoved between his teeth to bite down on as the sheriff drew the whip back. Remy winced and looked away, looking down at the delicate white petticoat in his hands.

The lash hissed through the air with a vengeful whine, and Logan clamped down on the bit as it connected. His body went rigid with the pain. Dear God, he'd never thought anything could hurt so much. Was this what Jubilee had experienced almost two months ago? No wonder she'd almost died. He tried to focus on anything to counter the pain. He heard her frantic cries behind him, heard her sobs, and his heart ached as he heard her. "Papa! Papa, oh, please, Mister, please stop! Please don't hurt him!" She'd called him 'Papa'. She loved him. Loved him enough to break her customary silence around others, loved him enough to beg for him. He knew if she heard him scream it would cut her heart to ribbons, so he tried to suppress it, but when the fifth lash came burning down right on top of the second one, cutting deeper into the flesh and muscle of his back, the bit slipped from between his teeth and he howled in agony.

He was barely aware of anything by the time the tenth lash fell, barely aware of anything but the burning agony in his back. His mind only dimly registered her scream of terror and horror as she saw his bleeding body being cut down from the whipping post. He tried to rise, so she would know he was all right, but he couldn't manage it, and fell back with a groan.

"Here," said a voice. A hand touched his shoulder, careful not to brush against the bleeding slashes. "Drink dis. It will help. Don' worry 'bout de girl; you not goin' to be much use to her if you dead." A pause, during which Logan stared at the stranger warily. "Don' worry, I'm a frien'. Name's Remy LeBeau." Logan took the silver flask held in front of him by the stranger with the oddly-accented voice, and drank down one gulp.

The stuff burned all the way down his throat, and after so long of not tasting strong whiskey it was something of a shock to his system. He coughed, choked, and spat, and then his head snapped up as he heard the whine of a lash. The crowd around the pillory was too thick for him to see what was happening, but Jubilee's high-pitched scream of agony told him plenty. He got to his feet, wobbling a little, and tried to get to the crowd.

"No," the stranger said. "You in no condition to fight your way t'rough dat crowd. And you can't do her any good, so you better stay right where you are." He grabbed Logan's arm.

Logan twisted around in the stranger's grip, snarling. "You got any idea what they doin' in there?" he hissed. "They're whippin' her, they're hurtin' my little girl…" He flinched at the sound of another scream.

"I know what dey doin', Mister Logan," the stranger said grimly. "I was in de courtroom. I seen what dey done to you bot', and I heard what de sentence was. I been on de receivin' end of de whip more times'n I can count. Believe me, I know." He looked pained as another scream split the air. "Let me tell you somet'ing, Mister Logan. Remy used to be a slave too. A branded one. Grew up on a plantation in Louisiana. My mot'er was a Creole slave; my fat'er was de plantation master. I had to watch him beat my mot'er one day at a whippin' post, and he didn't stop till she hadn' a single inch of untouch skin lef' on her body. She died."

Logan stared appalled. "What happened?"

The man leaned back against the whipping post, taking out an already rolled cigarette and lighting a match against the wooden post. "Remy got bought by a man who take him up to Canada. Dey got no slaves dere, mister; you free soon's you cross de border." He took a long drag on his cigarette. "I seen you an' your girl in de courtroom. If you let me, I'll do de same for her. When she's well enough, I buy her, take her north. Once in Canada we get rid of dat brand, give her papers, she a free woman. She can come back here if dat what she want."

There was a cheer from the crowd, and suddenly the sound of harsh, agonized sobs filled the air. Remy smoked his cigarette furiously. "She pass out. Dey cheer 'cause dey get her awake again. Bastards." He took a long drag. "Dey gonna take time wit' dis whippin'. _Merde_."

Logan clenched his fist, feeling the tears on his face and not caring. He could hear her voice, hoarse from screaming, begging them not to hit her again, that she was sorry and she would do anything if they would please not hit her again, and her father, was Papa all right? Several heads turned around to look, but not many, and no one told her he was all right. Then she screamed, and Logan knew the whipping had started again. He counted them; there were only two left to go. She screamed for both, and then there was nothing but sobbing. Remy smoked the last of his cigarette as the sheriff departed, leaving the hot, sunny town square for the cool interior of the saloon.

"Water," came a sobbing voice. Jubilee. "Please, somebody, I need water." Someone detached himself from the crowd and went to the well. Logan breathed a sigh of thanks as he took the flask of whiskey again and swallowed another mouthful. The boy came running back with a bucketful of water. Logan saw a little ripple as it was passed from person to person through the crowd, and then suddenly Jubilee gave a short, sharp cry.

"There's yer water!" came a cruel laugh. The bucket was passed along, and the little boy went running again. Logan struggled to his feet, the whiskey having dulled the edge off his pain, and began to fight his way through the crowd. People shoved and pushed him cruelly around, trying to keep him back, but he finally broke through the crowd and came out in the cleared space around the pillory.

He saw immediately what had been done with the water. They had dashed it over her, soaking her hair, face, and hands; and a second bucket, flying toward her, drenched her thin shift. The soaked material clung to her skin, outlining her buttocks and breasts and washing some of the blood from her bleeding back. He could see the livid welts, two still oozing blood. The top half of her shift was stained red with it.

She looked up with eyes dazed by pain, and saw him. "Papa!" she sobbed, and he ignored the crowd as he went to her. The pillory was just short enough to keep her slightly bent, and he knew by the end of the four hours her hips and lower back would be aching. He pushed the soaked, tangled hair back from her face, kissed her cheek tenderly, and pressed her face to his shoulder. She buried her face in it, crying bitterly, and he buried his own face in her hair, which had come loose from its braids and hung in damp, dripping tangles around her face, so the watching crowd wouldn't see him cry. "Papa, I tried to be brave, I really did, but it hurt…My back's on fire, Papa, I hurt so much…"

"It's okay, darlin'," he said softly. "It's okay, go 'head an' cry, yer a sweet, brave, wonderful girl, an' I love ya…" She cried unashamedly into his shoulder, sobbing in misery and pain, and Logan held her and let her cry. The crowd watched in silence, and on the outskirts of the crowd, an auburn-haired Cajun chain-smoked his cigarettes and watched with a few tears in his own eyes.

Logan didn't move the entire four hours. At the end of the first hour, people, sensing nothing dramatic was going to happen, started walking away, going about their own business. The town boys gathered around them, with stones and clods of dirt, but when Logan felt her body shudder from the impact, he gave a terrible snarl and turned on the boys. They scattered, resuming their abuse of the whipped slave girl from a distance verbally. Jubilee was too tired and in too much pain to notice. Logan held her as she sobbed, soothed her and comforted her, gave her water when she asked for it from the bucket someone had left for them out of pity, and didn't move. He never left her, until the four hours were up and the sheriff came to release her. He sniffed. "Filthy little slave," he said scornfully, "crying like a baby."

"She's a kid," Logan snarled. "Let me put you up here and do the same thing to you, and we'll see how much you bawl."

"Stand aside," the sheriff said, and unlocked the pillory. Jubilee slid limply out of it to the ground, moaning faintly as her raw back hit the ground. Logan gritted his teeth and tried to pick her up, but the sheriff snapped at him, "Back off, Mister. We're gonna wash her off first." He grabbed her arm firmly and dragged her across the square to the well, where he brought up a bucketful of water and dashed it over her. Three bucketfuls, and she crouched under the deluge and trembled until he finished, then got up when he seized her arm and dragged her off to the jail. "Take me too!" Logan cried. "Put me in there with her…" but the sheriff ignored him and disappeared into the jail with her. Logan was about to follow them, but Remy grabbed his arm. "Not'ing more you can do for her,_ mon ami_. C'mon, let me take you to de town doctor, get you treated. Den I get you somet'ing to eat, and you tell me 'bout her, _non_?"

Logan didn't say a word to the doctor, nor did the man say anything to him. He didn't say another word until they were out of the doctor's office, and he determinedly headed for the jail.

Jubilee lay on her side on a bed of straw, sleeping. Her shift was still damp, and she had tear tracks on her face, but she was breathing shallowly and evenly. Logan looked at the sheriff, sitting there with his feet up. "Did she eat anything?"

"Didn't give her nothing. We aren't paid to feed the prisoners."

Logan ground his teeth. "Is it all right if I give her somethin' ta eat later, when she wakes up?"

The sheriff shrugged. "Suit yourself." He leaned his chair back against the wall, pulled his hat over his face, and went to sleep.

Remy tugged on Logan's arm. "Come on. I get you somet'ing to eat at Miss Gina's, den we bring somet'ing back for her. She sleeping now. Let her fin' some comfort in dat for a little while." With a last look behind him, Logan left the jail.


	16. Laws

Chapter 16: Laws

She was awake when he came back, sitting up and moaning softly in the corner. The sheriff looked at Logan, at Jubilee, and then unlocked the cell. Logan slipped inside, giving her the plate of food he'd bought for her at one of the town's combination whorehouse/taverns. It had a chunk of beef, not too badly burned, and a side of potatoes and biscuits. She took the fork and ate, but he could see her heart wasn't in it. Finally, tired, she put the fork down. "I'm sorry, Papa…Logan," she whispered. "I can't eat. I hurt so much, I don't feel good…"

Logan leaned in close to her. "Try to eat as much of it as you can," he whispered so the sheriff wouldn't hear. "I laced the food with something that'll ease yer pain." Wearily she picked up her fork again. It took her a lot of effort, but she finally choked down the rest of the meal. As she handed the fork back to him, she said, "What's going to happen now?"

He went around behind her and took his handkerchief out of his pocket. Her welts had stopped bleeding, but her back was a mess of dried and crusted blood, and it had to itch the untouched skin. He dipped the handkerchief in the water bucket and carefully dabbed at the blood. She winced, but made no protest. The sheriff watched narrow-eyed, then, when Logan ignored him, the man returned to sitting with his chair tipped back against the wall and his hat pulled down over his eyes.

"Well, the magistrate'll call the court 'gain tomorrow, an' I 'sume the railroad master will be there ta try an' prove that yer his an' yer a runaway. Don't worry 'bout that, there was plenty o' people standin' round. One of 'em will say I bought ya fair an' square, an. It was a verbal agreement, an' everybody heard him say he 'cepted it." He stroked her hair. "The magistrate will say that yer mine, an that'll be the end of it. We can go home."

"My freedom?" Her soft whisper almost broke his heart.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "He ain't gonna give ya papers."

"So I'll still be a slave."

Logan sighed. "Yes, you'll still be a slave." He paused. "Jubilee, I met somebody today. A guy. He says he's from Canada. He offered ta buy ya from me an' take ya north. In Canada yer gonna be a free woman. I thought I'd ask ya what ya wanted."

She sat up so fast her head almost hit his chin. "I'll be free?"

He nodded. "Yep."

She looked excited…and then narrowed her eyes. "Will you be coming?"

He shook his head. "No, darlin'. I'm sorry. I gotta take care o' the ranch an' the horses."

She rested her head against his chest. "No, Logan. I won't leave you. I'd rather be a slave here with you than free with anyone else, anywhere else."

Logan stroked her hair. "It wouldn't haveta be forever," he said softly. "When yer free ya can come back."

"But what if someone recognizes me?" she turned to look at him. "What if they recognize that I'm a slave and they capture me again? As soon as they see the brand I'll be a slave again. And they'll sell me again to somebody who will make me work all the time."

"The stranger says they got a way ta remove the brands. He used ta be a slave down in Louisiana. He got bought an' taken ta Canada, an' set free. He come back here ta take more slaves up there ta be freed."

She shook her head resolutely, and he felt her tears on his shirt. "I won't go. Not unless you come with me. I don't want to leave you."

He held her for long moments, with tears pricking his eyes. She loved him. "Jubilee?" he said quietly.

She stirred. "Yes?" Her voice was sleepy; the medicine must be taking effect.

"You called me…Papa…back there…"

She stirred, tensed. "I won't do so again," she whispered. "I'd been thinking of you as my father, and I guess it just slipped out. I'm sorry if it bothered you."

"No, no," Logan's arms tightened around her. "I'd be honored if you'd call me Papa." He felt her smile.

The quiet was shattered by the sound of the jail door squeaking open, and Hunt walked in. Logan growled angrily.

Hunt smiled, and it wasn't a nice one. "How nice to see you here. Girl, get up." She made a move to obey, responding to the tone almost instinctively, but Logan pulled her back down to sit beside him.

"Get outta here, Hunt," he snapped. "What are ya doin' in here?"

"Heard they'd found the little runaway slave,' he snickered. "I came to testify tomorrow." He snickered again. "Gonna tell them she belongs ta the railmaster, yep, that's what I'm gonna do. She's an uppity little slave, and she needs to be taught a good lesson. He'll teach her what she needs to know about service and obedience on the end of a whip, he will."

Logan's arms tightened around the girl in his lap, hearing her terrified wail and hugging her tight against his shirt. "Go ta hell. Everybody heard me tell that bastard that I was goin' ta pay him a penny fer her, and everyone heard him tell me he accepted."

"You'd be surprised what money can make a man forget," Hunt snickered, leaning in close to Logan and flashing a dollar from his pocket. "Especially when there's a sweet, pretty little reward waitin' for him."

"What!?" Logan roared, springing to his feet. "Ya mean someone's paid ya to lie? Who is it?" he snarled.

The sheriff rose out of his seat. "Hey, hey! You're disturbing the peace!" he pointed at Hunt. "You, get going. You." He pointed to Logan, "Visiting hours are almost over." Hunt left, slinking out of the jail, and Logan returned to Jubilee's side.

"He's going to tell everyone that I don't belong to you!" The girl cried hysterically. '"He's going to tell them and they'll take me away and give me to the railmaster, and he'll kill me!" She began to cry. "I don't wanna die, Papa, I don't wanna die!"

"Sssh. He ain't gonna kill ya," Logan said, trying to soothe her.

"Yes he will," she sobbed. "He said so. I tried to run away once, and he slapped me around a bit and then told me if a slave sleeps apart from her master without his permission, he can have her whipped as much as forty times. I can't bear that, Papa, I couldn't! He'll kill me!"

Logan went cold all over. She was right; she wouldn't survive such a terrible whipping. She would die. Her fragile body wasn't made for such harsh punishment. "I won't let it happen," he said. "Ssssh. I won't let it happen. Trust me."

The sheriff got up and pushed his chair into the table. "Time's up, Mister,' he said. "Visiting hours are over." Logan got up, with a last glance at Jubilee sitting on the straw in the corner, and stepped out when the sheriff opened the barred door. He stopped as the man walked into the cell and pulled a set of heavy iron shackles on chains from the wall. "What're ya doin' with them?" he asked, startled. "Yer not puttin' 'em on my little girl, are ya?"

"Sorry, Mister. Rules is rules. Gotta keep slaves from escaping." He snapped one shackle around her wrist, and then reached for the other. Jubilee sobbed as he put them on. The chains were so short as to pull her close to the wall, and she had to sit with her raw back against the wall to get any slack at all in the chains. She wouldn't be able to lie down.

Logan looked anguished, but there was nothing he could do. Jubilee even managed a weak smile as the sheriff closed the cell door and locked it, then took Logan's arm firmly and escorted him to the door. "You can see her in the morning at the magistrate's office," he said. He pushed Logan out onto the step and turned, locking the door of the jail behind him, then walked off, presumably toward his home. Logan looked through the grimy window. Jubilee had closed her eyes, and she was breathing evenly. The medicine had kicked in. Well, at least one of them would get some sleep tonight.

"I got a room for you at de inn." The soft voice came from behind him. Logan whirled. The Cajun had come up behind him soundlessly. "Didn' t'ink you goin' to want to go home an' leave her here."

Logan sighed. "I asked her 'bout sendin' her off ta Canada with ya so she could be free. She said no, she'd rather stay here as a slave with me than as a free woman anywhere else. So I'd say she's declined yer offer."

Remy LeBeau shook his head. "You got to make her come, den," he said firmly. "Dis town don't got much by way o' slaves. She gonna stick out like a sore t'umb. An' she's a pretty little t'ing. Dere's goin' to be people just waitin' for her to be apart from you so dey can do bad t'ings to her."

"They can't touch her once she's mine!" Logan protested.

Remy looked at him oddly for a moment. "You never own a slave before, have you?" he asked. When Logan shook his head, he went on. "Den you don't know what can be done to a slave. Beauty is a curse to a slave, _mon ami_. You know, if dey fin' her outside your property wit'out a paper from you saying you give her permission an' say where she goin', what she doin', an' how long she goin' be gone, dey can order her to strip, tie her to a tree an' whip her? Law says dey can give her twenty lashes. You can bet dey goin' do somet'ing else to her too. Dey get charged wit' trespassing on your property for dat. Ten cent fine."

Logan turned white. The man went on grimly. "She got a horse, right?" Logan nodded. "Dey see her on her horse an' she don't got written permission from you to be ridin', dey can take her off de horse and give her twenty-five lashes right dere. She go into a store dat sells anyt'ing, even penny candy, without your permission and a note sayin' she can, dey can whip her for dat too. You do some trail ridin', too, I bet. She got her own knife to cut branches back wit', right? Dey gonna give her forty lashes if dey see it on her or see her using it. Dey sees her reading anything, even a street sign, she can get whipped for knowin' how to read. You goin' get fined a hundred dollars if dey catches you teachin' her how to read."

Logan clamped his open mouth shut. "She'll stay on the property with me then," he said, his teeth gritted. "If she wants to go play with her friends in the Indian camp, I'll take her there myself."

Remy shook his head pityingly. "What you goin' to find for her to do fifteen hours a day on your property, _homme_?" At Logan's shocked look, he sighed. "Law says dat slaves got to be occupied for fifteen hours out of de twenty-four. She sleep nine hours, what she goin' to do de rest of de time? And you can bet dat ot'er man who want her is goin' to be sitting out dere watching your property to see what you get her to do. If she look like she playin' around an' you don't do not'ing 'bout it, he goin' to report you. T'ree reports, an' you gonna get called up. Dey might end up takin' her 'way from you anyway."

Logan threw up his hands. "What'm I s'posed to do?" he said in despair.

Remy said grimly, "You got to make her work when she outside, or keep her inside. Your place got windows?" Logan shook his head. "Den you okay dere. But dere only so many t'ings she can do inside."

Logan shook his head again. "I ain't gonna make her work! She's only fourteen!"

"Den you might as well jus' give her to dis ot'er man now,_ mon ami_, 'cause her fate goin' to be de same. Unless you make her come nort' wit' me an' I free her."

Logan narrowed his eyes. "See here, how do I know yer tellin' de truth?"

Remy didn't say a word until they were at the inn. He led the other man wordlessly through the throng of patrons, all of whom ignored the tall Frenchman and the shorter man. When he was in the room he'd reserved for them, he turned to Logan. "Don' never call Remy a liar, _mon ami_." He stripped off his shirt and turned around, showing Logan a bare, lean, muscled back seamed with so many white scars Logan couldn't count them all.

Logan couldn't think of a word to say. The Cajun waited a moment, then turned around. "Your girl been lucky so far, she only got a few scars. But if she stay here, if she stay a slave, when she get to my age she goin' to look like me." He pulled his shirt back on. "I'm twenty-two."

He sat down at the table in the room and poured a glass of whiskey, then handed it to Logan. "Here. Drink. Look like you had a shock. You didn' know 'bout all dis?"

Logan tossed back the glass. When he stopped coughing, he shook his head. "Nah. Never owned a slave before. Lived in a free state up north with my wife." He held out the glass for another shot, and added by way of explanation, "She died givin' birth to my little girl."

"_Je suis desole_," the other man said quietly. "I had a girl in Canada. Name was Marie. She die las' winter in a blizzard."

Logan stared into the glass. "I saw Jubilee by the pump that supplied the railroad workers. She was skinny, an' she didn't have proper clothes, an' the railroad master was beatin' her up fer puttin' water on her sunburned shoulders. I ended up givin' her my shirt." He swallowed the whiskey. "Kept thinkin' 'bout her all day. Wanted ta buy her. Some Indian friends o' mine talked me inta it, an I went back to town the next day to get her. When I got there I seen her hangin' on the whippin' post, gettin' beat." He sighed. "She never spoke a word. Learned a lesson somewheres along the way ta keep her mouth shut. The Railmaster got tired of not hearin' her talk and started whippin' her to make her speak. Hit her five times with a bullwhip before she passed out. She started beggin' after the third one." He swallowed another glass of whiskey. "I told the Railmaster I was buyin' her offa him, and since she was unconscious and not breathin' she wasn't worth much. I tossed him a penny an' threatened him with a knife till he said he accepted the penny for her, an' I cut her down, got her breathin' again, took her home, and went to the Indian camp fer help cause Jonesboro didn't have a doctor would help slaves."

"Slaves are usually treated by horse doctors or another slave," Remy said. "Dey wasn't goin' to help you."

"I found that out," Logan said sourly. "Just now, that guy back there, Hunt? He runs the general store in Jonesboro. Ain't never liked him. There's only one little girl in Jonesboro, the mayor's little girl. She used ta bring Jubilee food when she was hungry. Anyway, Hunt stares at the Mayor's girl like she was a glass o' water and he was dyin' of thirst. Every time Miss Becky gets a new girl he goes for her, and the younger lookin' the better. He said that money can make a person fergit things, an' 'specially when there's a pretty reward waiting for him."

"He want your girl?"

Logan nodded. "He come ta my cabin with some supplies an' a set o' free papers. Said in exchange for them free papers, he wanted me ta tell her ta sleep with him. I threw him out after I paid him fer the supplies an' the papers. I bet…the Railmaster told him…he could have Jubilee…if he…arranged ta 'fergit'…that I paid fer…Jubilee." Logan's words had slurred as he sat there, and on the end of those words he passed out.

Remy took the glass before Logan's forehead could hit the table, then eased the man out from the chair and pulled him to the bed. "Not goin' to get any sleep any ot'er way, were you?" he said to the sleeping man. "S'okay. Remy not going to get any sleep tonight neit'er." He pulled the blanket up over the unconscious man, and settled grimly down to the table to wait for dawn.


	17. Judgment

Chapter 17: Judgment

Logan woke up to find the sun streaming in the window and the mother of all headaches in his skull. He groaned as he sat up, dazedly realizing he'd fallen asleep with all his clothes on. "What…" and then the previous day's events came rushing back to him, along with the pain in his whipped back. Gritting his teeth, he levered himself up out of bed.

The door opened, and Remy LeBeau came in. "_Bien_. You up?"

Logan responded with a string of swearwords. The Cajun grinned, but it was a sympathetic smile. "Dat home brew, it got a kick like two teams of draft horses." He handed Logan a mug of coffee. "Here. _Cafe_. It make your head feel better, at least." Logan grabbed the cup from Remy and drank a huge mouthful. It scalded his mouth and throat as it went down, but it did wake him completely and the headache did recede a little.

"What the hell ya give me yer home brew for?!" he spluttered when he was finally awake enough to form intelligible words.

"Remy figure you wasn' goin' to get sleep any ot'er way. You too worried 'bout what happen today." He rummaged around under his bed for his traveling case, and took out a fresh shirt. "You a little shorter den me, but you tuck de shirt in, no one goin' be able to tell. Let me take a look at your back."

Logan evaded the other man's gaze and pulled the fresh shirt over his head, wincing a little as he did so. "I take care of myself," he growled. "Ain't nobody lookin' after my girl."

Jubilee was awake when Logan walked into the jail. Remy left him at the door, saying he would go to the magistrate's office and wait for them. "Hey?" He said softly as he waited for the sheriff to unlock the cell so he could go in. "How ya doin'?"

She looked rested, at least. The medicine the Cajun had given him to put in her food must have worked. Logan wondered why the man traveled with such a thing, but questions could wait till later. "They're taking her to the magistrate's office in two hours," the sheriff said as he swung the door open. Logan slipped inside.

She threw her arms around him when he came in and squeezed his neck tightly, and Logan found he didn't mind a bit. She smelled of sweat and blood, but otherwise she was all right. "You all right? Can I get ya anything? Ya hungry?"

The sheriff spoke up. "She's not allowed to eat anything. If the judgment's against you, mister, the guy who claims her is gonna give her a whipping, or an amputation if he decides it, and she's gonna get sick. We don't want to clean up slave vomit."

"An amputation?" Logan stared in horror. The sheriff nodded, his tone softening slightly as he saw the other man's look. "Runaway slaves can have a foot amputated. Granted, it would be extreme, since that's only done in second or third offenses, but it's not unheard of for a first offense, if the other man's not feeling merciful. He might also choose just to hamstring her, however."

"Hamstring?" Logan was puzzled. "Ain't that when ya cut the big tendon in the heel ta cripple the animal? I heard they do that ta cows an' cattle, but I ain't never heard they do that ta people."

"They don't do that to people," the sheriff looked shocked. "That would be inhuman. No, it's only done to slaves."

"An' a slave ain't a human bein'?" The sheriff shook his head.

Muttering something uncomplimentary about the slave laws, Logan turned back to Jubilee. The girl was white as a sheet, and shaking. He hugged her tight. "Don't worry, kid, ya ain't gonna get maimed. Yer comin' home with me tonight."

She looked at him with huge eyes. "You're sure?"

Logan nodded. "I'm sure. How could the judge decide otherwise? A whole town full o' people done gone an' seen the Railmaster accept a penny fer ya. They sent a deputy off ta Jonesboro yesterday, he's supposed ta ask around. They'll tell him, and this mornin' the judge'll tell everyone yer mine, and tonight we can go home."

Jubilee settled against his comforting bulk with a sigh. Logan felt her lean against him, and looked down at her. "Uh…"

She turned and looked ruefully at the back of her shift, which had a large stain on it. "They don't have anything for me to change with, here," she said softly.

Logan sighed. "Hey, sheriff, ya got any laws what says I can't go buy her some stuff to take care of her…female problems?" he indicated the stain.

The sheriff scratched his head. "Well, we never had a woman in here before, so there ain't no laws against it. Guess it'll be okay."

Jubilee whispered to Logan. "I brought extra in my saddle bag. Red Doe told me to carry extra cloths and an extra shift when I was riding."

"Thank God for Red Doe," Logan sighed fervently as he waited for the sheriff to let him out. He wasn't sure how he was going to handle having to go to the general store and ask for female cloths.

He had seen their saddlebags in the room at the inn, so he assumed that Remy had released their horses into the town's common pasture and claimed their stuff. He dug around in her saddlebag, found the cloths, and returned to the jail. The sheriff and Logan turned their backs while she changed out of her dirty, stained shift and underdrawers, then stood back up. She looked a little better when they turned back around, although her hair was still mussed and she still smelled a little.

She held the bundle of clothing in her hand uncertainly, having wrapped her shift around the soiled cloths. "What do I do with this?" she asked.

Logan held out a hand. "I'll take it out to the refuse pit outside town." She handed it to him, and watched as he left the jail with it.

She sat down on the straw and winced at the ache in her back. She hurt, but she knew that if he knew it would hurt Logan's heart, so she tried to keep a brave face on it. Later, when they got home, she would cry.

The door opened, and she looked up, expecting to see Logan. Instead, the Railmaster came in. She scrambled backward until her back was against the back wall of the cell, and stared with huge, frightened eyes as he came to a stop in front of her cell. A slow, ugly smile spread across her face. "My, aren't you a sight for my eyes," he said. "You put on a little flesh, and you got a little taller. Freedom seems to agree with you, eh?" he laughed unpleasantly. "Don't worry, it's only fleeting. Tonight you'll be back with me, where you belong, and being used for the purpose I picked you up." He laughed. "Stand up, girl, and let me see what you look like now."

She didn't budge, and his smile wavered. "Stand up, girl," he snapped. "You want me to whip you for disobedience?"

She stood slowly, and the man turned to the sheriff. "Open this door for me, will ya, sheriff?" he said. "Want to inspect my property."

The sheriff unlocked the door, but he said, "She's not your property yet, mister. She belongs to the town justice until the magistrate decides if she goes with you or the other fellow."

"That's Mister Walbrook, sheriff,' the Railmaster said. "Name's Walbrook."

As he stepped in, Jubilee shrank against the wall, shrinking visibly. He grabbed her arm roughly, yanking her out to the middle of the cell, and snapped, "Strip." She stared at him, numb with shock and terror, and then looked imploringly at the sheriff. The man shrugged.

"I said strip!" Walbrook shouted, grabbing for one shoulder of her dress and yanking on it, baring one shoulder. She started to slowly pull the thin garment over her head.

"Hold it," came a low growl from the door. She saw Logan coming back in. "Don't do it. I am ordering you not to strip for him. Do as I say!" She dropped the hem of her dress hastily.

Walbrook turned to Logan. "You got no right to order my slave not to follow my order, Mister Logan," he said nastily. "She's not yours."

Logan snapped, "She is mine! I bought her offa ya fer a damn penny, an' ya know it! The deputy's gonna tell the magistrate, an' the magistrate's gonna give her ta me. Ya got no rights ta her, an' ya know it!" Logan snarled, advancing on the man. "Yer a damn liar, tellin' everybody she run away!"

"She is a runaway," Walbrook shot back venomously. "And when I get her back I'm going to make sure she never runs again. I'm taking her legs off under the knee. She don't need 'em for what I done branded her to do!"

Logan exploded. "Yeah, she tol' me 'bout that. Yer a sick bastard, ta brand a little helpless girl who can't fight back. An' ya let them other slaves rape her, an' that's worse!"

"Ain't rape," the man sneered. "She's not a human, so it's not rape. Do you call it rape when your stud mounts one of your mares? No."

Logan grabbed the belt knife from his hip and drew it. "Take them words back, or I'll make ya take 'em back!" he snarled.

The sheriff intervened. "Hey, hey!" he unlocked the door to the cell and waited for Walbrook to step out. "No bloodshed, or I'm going to have to arrest both of you! Get out!" He looked at the clock. "Time for court to open, so you all gotta get to the courthouse!" he took a set of shackles from the wall and snapped them around Jubilee's wrists and ankles.

The courtroom was packed. Remy was sitting next to a big hulking brute of a man who smelled like sour whiskey and hating every minute of it when the door opened and John Logan came in. He was followed by a well-dressed, impeccably-groomed man wearing a suit and tie. Remy was glad he'd given Logan one of his spare shirts, so the welts from his whipping didn't show. He still made a dusty, scruffy appearance next to the wealthy railroad construction master.

The judge banged his gavel. "Court will now come to order. We are here today to ascertain ownership of slave 87264. Will all interested parties step forward?"

Logan and the man in the suit stepped up to the rail as the bailiff led the little girl in. Remy sat back. Logan had found some more clothes for her, and she looked decent now, if terrified.

The man in the suit spoke first. "Your Honor, the slave is rightfully mine. I had the smith put her collar on, and I have been feeding her and clothing her and sheltering her. This man, John Logan…he walked into the square while I was disciplining her for disobedience, took my whip away, untied her, and rode off with her."

The magistrate interrupted him. "So she did not actually run away, as you claimed, but was stolen."

Walbrook looked taken aback. "Magistrate, she still spent almost two months away from me, and the law says a slave is not to sleep apart from the master."

The magistrate nodded. "What is your side of the story?" he asked Logan. Logan told him, and then the judge said, "Have you any witnesses to support your claim?"

Logan blinked. "Yer Honor, yer deputy can tell ya that practically everybody in town heard me tell this man here that I was buyin' her offa him fer a penny, and they heard him say he accepted."

"Have you a bill of sale?"

"It was a verbal agreement."

The Judge turned to Walbrook. "Mr. Walbrook, have you any papers confirming your ownership of this slave?"

Walbrook looked uncomfortable. "Uh, not exactly,' he said.

The judge's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, not exactly?"

Walbrook shifted uncomfortably. "I was passin' through a camp of indentured servants that was attacked by a pack of Indians, and she was the only one left. I took her into my train of slaves, and when we got here I had her branded and collared. She was quiet, and I thought she couldn't speak, so I never got a chance ta ask her what her name was for the papers."

The judge sat back. "In other words, this slave is not yours either."

"She's mine because I found her, judge. If it wasn't for me she would have starved to death in a camp full of rotting corpses."

The judge tapped his gavel. "In response to your claim, Mr. Logan, my deputy found no one in the town who was willing to give a written statement as to the verbal agreement between yourself and the other claimant. He found it difficult to get any details from the townsfolk in Jonesboro at all."

"Your Honor, I have brought a witness who will testify that there was no agreement between Mr. Logan and myself," Walbrook said. He extended a hand behind him.

The big man beside Remy stood up, and Remy frowned. He was dressed in the same kind of dusty clothes that Logan was dressed in, yet last night Remy had seen him downing almost two dollars' worth of good whiskey. He narrowed his eyes. He believed Logan.

The judge peered at the big man. "And who might you be?"

"I'm Grant Hunter, Your Honor, I run the general store back in Jonesboro. I never heard Mr. Logan tell Mr. Walbrook he was going to give him money for the girl, I never saw money change hands, and he just took off with her like it was nobody's business." He sat back down.

The judge's eyebrows did a little dance. "So noted." He turned to Logan. "Stealing a slave, or helping a slave escape, is a serious offence, Mr. Logan. You will pay a fine totaling one thousand dollars, or spend six months in jail if you cannot pay. As for the slave in question," he cleared his throat as Logan stared open-mouthed, in shock, "Since she has no papers, I shall award her to Mr. Walbrook, as he is the one who collared and branded her, thus signifying ownership…"

Remy heard the girl scream in terror and panic, and ignored the rest of the legalese. He had to act fast. Slipping his hand into his coat, he brought out a thin, small, sharp dagger, and sent it thudding into the wooden seat between Hunt's legs, very close to the man's privates. "Why you lie, _homme_?" he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Hunt's face turned a pasty shade of white as he realized that the dagger was pinning the crotch of his trousers to the seat. "I…I ain't lying, mister…"

Another of Remy's throwing daggers appeared, a short distance away from the other one. Hunt gasped, sweat popping out on his forehead. Remy had lightly nicked the skin on his privates. "You lyin' now," Remy hissed, his eyes glittering. "What dat fancy guy offer you, eh? Tell you you can ride dat poor _mademoiselle_ if you tell lies?" He reached for the second dagger, yanked it out of the seat, and played with it, letting the light wink off the dagger blade. "Want to tell de trut', Monsieur? Or maybe you rat'er I cut somet'ing off, den you not going to be riding no woman anymore, _non_?" he held the dagger poised over the man's privates. "What you decide, monsieur?"

Hunt gave a strangled gasp as the dagger slipped into the thin, worn fabric and pricked him gently. "No, don't, don't do that, okay, I'll tell the judge…" Remy withdrew the knife, then planted a foot on top of the man's shoe. Muscles honed by years of working on the tobacco and cotton plantations in Louisiana ground his foot inexorably on top of the storekeeper's arch, and the man gave a howl of pain and stood up quickly, trying to get his foot out from under Remy's. He could have saved himself the trouble; Remy's foot wasn't going anywhere.

The bailiff was holding a crying, struggling, screaming Jubilee as Walbrook walked toward her, and the sheriff was holding Logan back. "Don't touch her!" Logan was shouting. "You bastard, how dare you…"

Hunt's shriek filled the courtroom, and every head turned toward him as he jumped up. The judge turned to him. "Have you anything further to add to your testimony, Mr. Hunter?" Remy ground his foot down a little more firmly.

"Uh, I…uh, Your Honor…" Hunt looked down. Remy was looking at him with the same expression of surprised interest everyone else had, but his heel was continuing to grind Hunt's foot bones into powder. Or so it felt. No one had noticed; in the shadows under the chairs it was hard to tell. "Uh, yes, Your Honor, I…I have something to add. I, uh, might…ahem…have, uh, been a little mistaken about the agreement…I think I may have heard…" the foot ground down harder, and Hunt had to fight not to double over and groan. "Yes, yes, I distinctly heard Mr. Logan tell Mr. Walbrook he was going to give him a penny for the girl, and I did hear Mr. Walbrook say he accepted." Walbrook turned to Hunt, his face dark with fury, but Hunt didn't care, the pain in his foot was gone, and the little knives threatening his manhood had disappeared to wherever they'd come from. He sat down with a sigh of relief, groaning, and Remy returned to his lazy, unconcerned slouch against the back of the seat.

Walbrook had his hands around Jubilee's neck, choking off her cries of terror and anguish as he stared murderously at Hunt. His hands tightened, and she made horrible choking sounds, her face going red. The judge nodded to the bailiff, and the bailiff stepped forward. "Sir, remove your hands from her neck," the bailiff said, and Walbrook, after shaking her once, angrily, dropped her. For a moment there was no sound in the courtroom but her harsh, tortured breathing.


	18. Changes

Chapter 18: Changes

The judge finally recovered from his surprise. "Well, that puts a different take on things," he said. "It appears, Mr. Walbrook, that you have been lying, and Mr. Logan was telling the truth. The fine is revoked, the jail sentence is lifted upon Mr. Logan. You, Mr. Walbrook," the judge pointed to the well-dressed man, "will pay to the court a fine of two dollars for lying." He sighed. "Now, about the slave. A verbal agreement is still binding, therefore the court awards ownership of slave 87264 to Mr. John Logan, and papers to that effect will be drawn up following this proceeding. Mr. Logan, I would advise that the next time you enter upon a transaction of this kind, you will obtain written proof of the agreement." He sighed. "Now, about the slave. I realize that you bought her with the intent of freeing her, and knew nothing about her brand. From the familiarity with which she addresses you, I assume you have become somewhat closer to her than the normal master/slave relationship. This must be stopped, Mr. Logan. She is property, much like your horse or your chickens or your cattle are. You must treat her as such, in accordance with the laws of the state.

"I will grant you one week in which to rectify any unacceptable living conditions which might currently be the norm on your property. A bailiff will arrive at your property one week from today to inspect her accommodations and make sure they are in accordance to the law of the state. So noted." He rapped his gavel.

Jubilee stumbled into his arms, sobbing and shaking, and for a moment he just held her, feeling his own legs begin to shake. He had almost lost her, God, he had come so close to losing her to that bastard…maybe Hunt had some backbone after all. He intercepted the man as the storekeeper went out the door. "Thank ya, Hunt," he said. "Ya did the right thing. Mighty obliged ta ya." The man ducked out of the door without even looking at him, and Logan frowned as he saw the man limping away.

The judge said sharply, "Slave. You know the rules." Jubilee let go of him with a last look and took a step behind him, lowering her eyes and her head. Logan bit his lip. Well, once they were out of town they would forget this whole slave thing.

The judge was filling out a paper. "Have you a name you wish to give her, or should I just use her number?" he asked Logan. Logan gritted his teeth.

"Her name is Jubilation Lee. Jubilee."

"A surname is not required," the judge said. "She will take your surname until such a time as she is transferred to another owner. Jubilee, then. Sign there." He handed the quill pen to Logan, and Logan signed the blank that said 'owner'. "Now. Since she is a slave, and the brand is not in a place one would be able to see at a glance, she must be collared, or branded elsewhere if you choose. You must see the smith before you leave. Dismissed."

Remy met him outside the door. "You got your girl," he said.

"Yeah," Logan said, glancing back at the silent child standing behind him. "Thank God Hunt decided to be a decent fellow. Must thank him sometime."

"Don' bot'er,' Remy snapped, striking a match against the outside boards and lighting an expertly-rolled cigarette. "He wasn't goin' to do not'ing. Dat Walbrook, he tol' Hunt dat he could sleep wit' her if he lie to de judge."

Logan's eyes narrowed. "What changed his mind?" he asked.

From under his coat the Frenchman produced one of the tiniest knives Logan had ever seen. "Dis did," he smiled. "Dat man value his manhood more den he want her. He rat'er be able to mount a whore again."

Logan stared at the dagger for a moment, then shook his head. "You Cajuns do things different," he said.

"_Oui_," Remy grinned, smiling. "Now you got an appointment wit' de smit', and den you got to go home an' change some t'ings."

Logan shook his head. "It's my home, I do what I want in it," he said. "I don't care what the judge said."

Remy grabbed his arm. "Don' let nobody hear you say dat, _mon ami_," he hissed. "Dey got laws for slaves. Didn' you hear dat judge? You got to do what de law says, or de goin' to take her 'way from you. And who you t'ink goin' to buy her when de judge put her up for auction here?"

"I don't know what the law says!" Logan said, exasperated. "I ain't never owned a slave before!"

Remy shook his head. "I tell you what, Remy go home wit' you an' make sure you followin' all de rules. Okay? Now get to de smit'. He got to put a collar on her. Don't got to be big, just got to be somet'ing metal roun' her neck to show you own her."

Logan walked into the smithy, Jubilee following him slowly. The smith, a big man with large hands and a black beard and hair, dusted off his hands. "Heard you was coming," he said. "Tell you one thing, friend, I don't hold with owning no slaves either. That's why I moved out here. She don't look like no slave, but law says ya gotta get her a collar, right?" He reached for a thin bar of iron and shoved it into the forge.

"File it good," Logan snapped. "Her last one cut her neck up."

The smith turned to her. "Lift your chin up a little so's I can see, hey?" Jubilee obediently lifted her chin, and he saw the faded scars on her throat. He made a tsking sound. "Won't give her nothing to leave marks like that," he snorted, turning toward the forge. "Would be an insult to my skills. I never make something that isn't smooth." He took the bar out of the forge and put it on his anvil, then began to beat it with a hammer.

An hour later he had a thin circle of iron, seemingly delicate but unbreakable. He shaped it into an oval, then slipped it around her neck to see how it sat. After some more pounding and effort, he had a thin oval of iron that conformed to her throat and curved gently downward over her shoulders, and put a small notch in the center of it, at the hollow of her throat. Taking a small circle of brass, he etched the name Jubilee Logan on it and bored a hole through the top, then slid it on the iron necklace until it came to rest on the notch in the hollow of her throat. "There," he said. "Now it's still a collar, still has her name and her owner's last name, but it ain't gonna leave no marks on her, and it won't be uncomfortable for her to wear."

Logan was speechless. "Thank you," he said finally. He hadn't expected such courtesy.

Jubilee fingered the collar and the brass tag wonderingly. Her name. She had a tag with her name and Logan's name on it. She was Jubilee Logan now. "Thank you," she said gently, timidly.

The smith grinned and offered her a cup of water. "Here. It's mighty hot in here. And I bet you want something to eat, too." He pressed a biscuit in her hand, a biscuit with a slice of beef between each side, and she bit into it hungrily.

Logan led her back out into the street, where Remy met him. "You got to get some t'ings from de store," Remy said, steering him in the direction of the nearest general store. "I get de t'ings out of de room and saddle de horses."

Logan walked into the general store and started picking up things Remy had told him he needed. A small pad of paper, expensive, but Remy told him was necessary; a pen, a black dress, needle, thread, and a bolt of cloth. After that, he left Logan to his own devices. Logan had Jubilee try on some of the shoes the store offered until they found a pair that would fit, and then left the store.

Remy was waiting out front with three horses. Jubilee was about to mount Molly when Remy put his hand on her arm. "Logan, got dat paper? She got to have written permission for her to get on a horse."

"But I'm with her!" Logan protested.

Remy shook his head, "Don' matter. She need written permission, or she walks." As Logan scribbled a line on the paper and signed his name, he couldn't help but think things were going to be very different from now on. And he hated it.

Remy ran a practiced eye over his fence as he opened it, and said, "You goin' to want to make a lock for dat gate, _mon ami_. Ot'erwise you goin' to have people sneakin' in here to see what you an' her doin'." Logan decided that was the first thing he'd do.

The Cajun looked around at the cabin. "Nice place," he said. "But she can't have no room 'o her own."

"Where she gonna sleep?" Logan sounded indignant.

"She sleep on de floor, or next to you, or you put her in de barn if you want her to have her privacy. But she can't have no room of her own. Dat wall have to come down. An' get her t'ings out of dat chest. She not supposed to have not'ing of her own."

"What 'bout her clothes?" Logan said. "Where is she supposed to put them?"

Jubilee spoke. "If you have any of those nails left, you could drive them into the wall and I can hang stuff off them," she said, sounding a little more like her old self. "And anyway, I'm only supposed to have two dresses. One cotton and one wool, for when it gets colder." She looked longingly at the doeskin tunic Red Doe had given her. "I can't wear that."

Logan stared at it, fighting tears. Her favorite shirt. She couldn't wear it anymore because some damn law said she couldn't. He opened his chest and put the shirt in it.

She saw his face. "It's okay, Papa…Logan," she said softly. "I'd rather be here than with the Railmaster."

Remy sighed. "You know de rules, Jubilee," he said. "You got to call him 'master' now."

Jubilee repeated dutifully, "Master Logan." Logan wanted to scream and throw something.

"Only call me that when other people around," he snapped harshly. "Call me whatever ya feel like when there ain't nobody around." He turned to Remy. "There a problem with that, Louisiana gumbo?"

"_Non, non_," Remy shook his head. "Dat fine. Now. She can' sit an' eat wit' you. She got to eat separate."

Logan grumbled, but after he cooked the noon meal, Jubilee sat on the floor by the hearth and ate off a plate on her knees while he and Remy ate sitting in the chairs. "Now," Remy said when the meal was done, "She got to spend fifteen hours a day working, wit' one half-hour for meals t'ree time a day. Dere ain't much to do 'roun' here, but washing dishes and doin' chores gonna help fill in de time. Feed and water de animals, do de cookin' and cleanin', and after she done dat maybe if you set up a garden for her she can work on dat. Den dere's all dat cloth I tol' you to pick up. She can learn to do some needlework on dat. Sewin' takes up a lot of womenfolk's time, an' dat be a good way for her to be occupied wit'out wearin' her out."

Logan interrupted him. "We don't gotta keep her occupied fifteen hours a day, no matter what de damn law says," he said. "This is my home."

Remy got up and threw open the door. "Look, Logan," he snapped. "Look out dere. Dat stand of trees over dere? Dem t'ree men been dere since we come in here, watchin' to see how much work she doin' an' whether you followin' de law. If you not, dey goin' to take her away from you and sell her, and you goin' to lose her." Logan stared, stunned.

"It ain't goin' to be easy livin' here wit' her as a slave," Remy snapped. "Dat's why I want you to give her to me! I take her to Canada wit' me, free her, den send her back to you! So she be free an' don't have to follow no stupid damn law!"

"I won't go," Jubilee said timidly, crossing the floor to sit at Logan's feet, laying her head on his knee. "I'd rather live here as a slave and work all day than be anywhere Papa isn't."

Remy stared at her, then said, "And are you willing to be de kind of slave dat brand says you s'posed to be? You call him Papa. Are you goin' to be able to do what you s'posed to do if you t'ink of him like dat?"

Jubilee raised her chin defiantly. "Yes. I will. I love him. He won't hurt me like the other slaves did. And since Red Doe says I'm opened now, it won't hurt at all. And even if it does hurt I'll deal with it. I did before. I'll deal with it again if that's what I have to do to stay here."

Logan stood up abruptly. "Suppose ya tell me what it is I'm supposed ta do dat's goin' ta hurt ya," he said angrily. Jubilee stared at the floor, lip trembling, and Remy finally answered his question.

"Dat brand be on her hip, _mon ami_," he said, his voice soft. "Putting a brand on a slave dere mean dey s'posed to share your bed."

Logan sucked in a breath in shock. "I ain't _never_ goin' to let her do dat!" he yelped. "I ain't never wanted little girls like that!"

"But dat's what she become a slave for," Remy said. "Dat Walbrook, he t'ink she pretty, he brand her dere because eventually he goin' to have her under him. You don' know what it like, Logan. Dere be girls no older dan her on plantations havin' dey master's bastards." He finished quietly, "My mot'er was fifteen when she give birt' to me."

"Fifteen…" Logan choked on the word.

Jubilee looked at Remy with sudden understanding. "You were a slave?"

"Was," Remy said. "Man name Charles buy me from down sout', take me to Canada to make me a free man."

Jubilee looked intently at him, and he met her eyes squarely. After a moment, she said softly, "Masters brand little boys too."

"Yes." A nerve in Remy's jaw twitched.

"You branded too?" Logan asked. "Where you branded?"

Remy gritted his teeth. "None of your business, Logan."

Jubilee went to Remy and wrapped her arms around him, in a gesture Logan had never seen her use for anyone other than him. "I'm sorry, Remy. I'm sorry they did that to you."

"I'm sorry dey done dat to you too," Remy patted her shoulder awkwardly.

Logan stood there, feeling left out. There was a bond of shared experience between them that he didn't understand, couldn't understand. After a moment he cleared his throat. "Well, I'll git on out with the horses. Uh, kid, if ya wanna go out ta the creek and wash the dishes, we might's well show them peepin' toms out there that I'm followin' them damn laws. You was right, Gumbo, I'm glad I ain't never put windows in here. And since it's gittin' dark, ya might's well stay here fer the night. Looks like she goin' to be sleepin' out in the damn barn from now on, ya might's well use her bed." He left.

Somewhat embarrassed, Jubilee picked up the bucket of dirty dishes and headed out to the creek to wash them. Remy took a moment more to compose himself, then went out to tend to his own horse.


	19. Adjusting

Chapter 19: Adjusting

Logan spent the entire afternoon with the horses after he made a lock for the gate into his property, and Remy and Jubilee wisely left him alone. It was, after all, a lot for Logan to take in all in one afternoon.

Logan ran Storm around in circles in the corral on the lunge line, thinking about what Remy had said. It rankled. He'd never owned a slave; he didn't even like the idea now. He hated the idea. But he hated the thought even more of Jubilee with Walbrook, thought about how she would have survived the amputation of both her legs right below the knees. He thought about what she'd be doing right now, if Walbrook had won his suit for ownership; probably in shock, unconscious, bleeding from the stumps of her legs. He saw her pass the corral fence, her bare feet flashing under the hem of her skirt, and shuddered. He turned his thoughts resolutely from Walbrook. The man had lost his suit; he was out of Jubilee's life forever. Logan had no intention of ever selling her.

He snapped the whip at Storm a little harder than he intended, and cursed himself under his breath as the horse started a canter instead of a trot. He steadied the horse, slowed him down, then returned to his musings.

Freedom. Every slave wanted it; he'd seen hunger for it in her eyes, when he first brought her here and talked about freeing her. Now she'd come to love him, but was she telling the truth about loving him more than her freedom? Was the Cajun telling the truth about Canada being a free country? Would Jubilee be free there? Would her freedom be worth giving her up, losing her, never seeing her again? Would he be willing to pay the price of never seeing her again if it meant her freedom? He could still hear her voice in his ear, stubbornly insisting to Remy that she'd rather stay here with Logan than be free in Canada. She might feel that now, but what about later, when the Cajun left? Would she regret that she hadn't taken the freedom he'd offered her? Logan didn't want to look into her eyes and see regret and unhappiness there because she had given up her chance at freedom to stay with him. What did he have to offer her anyway? Fifteen hours of work a day, sleeping in the barn (though Logan was determined to bring her into the house as soon as the weather turned, which would be any day now). He could feel the beginnings of fall frost in the air. And, not to mention, being watched like a hawk for any signs that their relationship was not a proper Master/slave one. He checked the treeline as he turned Storm again. Yep, those three men were still there. He was going to get a real sturdy lock for the front gate the next time he went to Jackson, and then he'd get one for the barn door so no one would hop the fence and try to enter the barn at night to make Jubilee do…whatever. The lock would be on the inside.

The Cajun had more to offer her. Freedom was a precious gift all on its own; but Logan had also seen the quality of the Cajun's clothes, the value of the cloth it was made from, for all that they were dusty and travel-stained. And yet, Logan had reservations about him. He couldn't deny that the man had helped them; he might have saved Jubilee's life by forcing Hunt to tell the truth in the courthouse. Logan himself liked something about the man. But he didn't know if the man was telling the truth about himself. Jubilee, however, did; Logan and Red Doe were the only ones she'd ever hugged. Running Wolf was even kept at a distance. Yet she'd hugged Remy LeBeau. Logan couldn't figure out what it was about the bold, brash young Cajun that had caught her attention.

The Cajun was handsome, and had his own kind of rugged charm. He'd seen the girls at the inn yesterday giving the Cajun appreciative, coy looks as they went through the inn to their room. Remy had seemed unconscious of it, although Logan was willing to bet a silver dollar that the Cajun had known about the looks he was getting. The man didn't miss much. Being a former slave, he'd have had to learn to pay attention to what was going on around him.

And that was another thing that bugged Logan. He urged Storm into a canter as his thoughts sped through his head like the ground under the horse's hooves. The lash scars proved that he had been a slave; but the way Remy refused to talk about his brand, and the fact that he traveled with a packet of pain-numbing, sleep producing herbs, made Logan wonder.

Logan stopped Storm when he thought the horse had enough, and rubbed the horse and walked him to cool him as he eyed Remy's horse. You could tell a lot about the man from the horse he rode.

Remy's horse was a chestnut stallion with a black mane and tail. It stood placidly cropping the lush grass of Thunder's pasture, its flicking ears the only sign of its alertness. But Logan saw the muscles tense in the horse's shoulder when Logan got near him, and then a quick sideways shimmy and laid-back ears told Logan that this horse had been allowed to sire a few foals; the horse was almost as temperamental as Storm. It said a lot for the horsemanship of the man who rode him, and about the quality of any other horses he might have.

Jubilee went to the back door and called, "Supper!" She punctuated her cheerful shout by banging on the back of a pot with a wooden spoon. Logan winced at the noise, and Remy's horse laid its ears back as it crow-hopped away from Logan.

"Careful, _mon ami_. He don' like strangers." Remy stepped past Logan and laid a hand on the glossy neck. "Easy dere, Rogue. Ain't not'ing goin' to hurt you here."

"His name is Rogue?" Logan raised an eyebrow. Any horse with an outlaw name had to be trouble.

"Eh, he's trouble all right, but only to people don' know how to handle him," Remy said when Logan voiced his concern. "He's ordinarily very well behaved." Then he whistled, long and low, and grabbed a handful of Rogue's mane as a lean, silent white shadow slid under the pasture fence and headed for the cabin at a run. "What was dat?"

Logan grinned at the other man's discomfiture. "That was Snow, her wolf," he said, jerking a thumb toward the cabin. "She said a bitch in the indentured servants' railroad camp had puppies, an' she had ta help this one survive when it's ma died. She lost track of it fer a while, the wolf stayed outta the railmaster's territory, but one day Jubilee an' I went huntin' a mad wolf who killed her favorite pony. It attacked us in the middle of the night, an' she'd probably have died if it wasn't for Snow bustin' in an' distractin' the other wolf until I could shoot it. 'Course, I also went and shot him too, when I seen him, and she looked so pitiful I couldn't ignore Snow. We brought him here ta help him recover. She lets him come an' go as she pleases; he'll disappear sometimes fer days at a time, but she never worries. Says he can take care o' himself jus' fine."

Remy looked thoughtful. "Will this wolf stay with her if she wants him to?"

Logan narrowed his eyes. "Sometimes. Why?"

Remy sighed. "Tie him in the barn with her when she go to sleep at night. If anybody sneak over your fence and try to get wit' her when you asleep, dat wolf goin' to made de bastard t'ink twice. An' if he do get in, de wolf will raise enough fuss dat you goin' to wake up."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "I was gonna buy a lock fer the barn door."

Remy shook his head. "Not practical. You keep straw an' hay in de barn. If it catches fire, she might not be able to get out in time. Not to mention, people 'round here do burn barns of people dey don' like. You don' want her to get burned in de barn." His eyes looked haunted for a moment. "Takes a while to untie a rope aroun' an ankle, and den she got to fiddle wit' a lock. Hay go up faster den dat.'

"A rope? Why would she have a rope…" Logan stared at the Cajun, and cursed. "No. NO!"

Remy said softly, "De law say a slave in an outdoor structure at night got to be restrained from running away. Chain and shackle de usual method, but rope do de same t'ing." He bent down, pulled the end of one trouser leg up. "See dat?"

Logan looked. Remy's leg was white with scar tissue from a horrible burn. "Remy's Master an Mistress tie him up in a barn one night as punishment, and de barn caught fire from a stable boy's careless cigarette." He gritted his teeth. "Take me long time to get de rope untied, wit' all de smoke an' chaos, an' horses screamin'. Nobody care bout a slave boy tied in de barn; dey was too busy gettin' de horses out. I finally got de rope off an' outside just before de barn collapse." Remy dropped his trouser leg.

Logan's heart dropped at the thought of Jubilee burning in his barn. "But…do I have to…tie her up…"

Remy sighed. "Yes, _mon ami_, you do. She know dat too. Dey," he jerked his head in the direction of the three men camping in the trees, still watching the cabin through the gathering darkness. "know dat too. Dey goin' to wait to go home tonight to see if you do it."

Logan looked sick. He turned and headed for the cabin without another word.

Remy took a moment to pat Rogue. "He goin' to be okay," he said, more to himself than the horse. "He jus' don' want to tie de _petite_ up at night. But he goin' to have to unless he want to lose her." He headed for the cabin himself.

Logan ate supper with as few words as possible. Jubilee sat on the floor in front of the hearth, eating quickly and talking softly to the wolf, who listened as she fed him chunks of meat from the roasted haunch of deer she'd cooked. Remy watched them both.

Jubilee knew about the half-hour rule. She finished her portion quickly, and sat sewing a button onto Logan's shirt as she waited for the men to finish. Logan pushed his plate away and stared at the fire moodily, trying to put off the moment as long as he could, but finally got up. His steps were heavy as he went to the chest he kept rope in and selected two long lengths. "I'm sorry, kid," he said, his voice cracking. "Remy says ya gotta be tied in the barn."

"I know," she said to him gently. "It doesn't bother me, Papa. Really."

Logan cleared his throat. "Remy says if I tie Snow in there with ya the wolf'll protect ya from any bad skunks who might try ta sneak in there an' hurt ya," he said. "I don't wanna, Jubilee. I really don't."

"You have to," Jubilee said, slightly alarmed. "Papa, if you don't they'll take me away from you and give me back to the Railmaster, and he'll chain me worse. When I was in the slaves' boxcar the chain was just long enough to let me sit up. I couldn't move from where he put me. Sometimes he'd put chains on my wrists too, and when he did I couldn't protect myself from…from the other slaves. I'd rather have you tie me with rope."

Logan scrubbed his sleeve across his face to blot away the tears in his eyes. "Well, come on. Tell yer wolf ta come too." He opened the cabin door and led her out.

He tied one end of one rope to a ring in the wall, and the other end around Snow's neck. Then he tied the end of the other rope to the same ring, and waited as Jubilee made herself comfortable. Finally, cursing under his breath, he crouched and ran a loop of rope around her slim ankle. He tied a knot, stepped back, and looked at it.

"It's too tight," he said, bending to loosen it, but Jubilee prevented him.

"Papa, it's fine. Please. Don't torture yourself. I'll be fine." She took the blanket he'd given her and pulled it over herself. "Good night, Papa." She closed her eyes as he picked up the lantern and left, closing the barn door behind him.

He could barely see across the space from the barn to the cabin. It hurt to have to leave his little girl in the barn, tied like an animal. He decided, then and there, that privacy be damned, tomorrow she was sleeping in the cabin. He'd put blankets on the floor for her; he just couldn't do this every night, tying her up. It was going to tear his heart out. It didn't seem to bother her; she was used to being tied up, but he couldn't stand it. He wanted her back in the cabin, in her bed on the other side of the wall, sleeping peacefully on a comfortable straw tick.

How in hell was he going to do this for the rest of her damn life? More importantly, what if something happened to him, and she was left alone? What would happen? Would she be seized and resold? Would she go to someone who cared about her, or would she go to someone like the Railmaster, who would whip her during the day for the tiniest misstep, and rape her at night? The thought made him sick.

Would letting her go with Remy really be so bad? He'd done fine without her, he'd be okay without her again. Would her freedom be worth his loneliness?

He wasn't sure he wanted to find out.


	20. Inspection

Chapter 20: Inspection

The bailiff frowned at the second bed. "What's this here for?" he said.

Logan growled out, "Friends. Guests."

The bailiff nodded. "Those are her clothes on the nails there?"

Logan snapped, "What's it look like?"

Remy sighed. This third visit was going well so far, unless you counted Logan's monosyllabic answers to all the questions and the open hostility. Remy couldn't blame him; after all, here was the local _gendarme_ telling Logan how to run his cabin, and John Logan was not a man who took kindly to other people telling him what to do. At least he hadn't tried to hit the man yet. Not like the last time. The last time he'd been fined for trying to punch the deputy. The sheriff had come first, then the next time he'd sent the deputy, and now it was the court bailiff. Remy was sure the next time it was going to be the judge himself.

The bailiff sighed. "All right. I'd like to see what her sleeping arrangements are like."

Logan pointed to the pile of neatly-folded blankets on top of the chest along the wall. "Sleeps on them. Sleeps in the barn when it's hot."

The bailiff gestured to the open cabin door. "Lead the way."

Logan growled low in his throat, but stomped out to the barn and opened the door.

The bailiff nudged at the straw with a toe, noting the light blanket folded neatly on top of the pile of straw. He also noticed there were two ropes hanging from the ring in the wall. "What's the other rope for?"

Logan growled. "Pet wolf. Sleeps here."

"Pet wolf? Hers or yours?"

Logan bit back the truth that would have landed them in hot water. "Mine. Keep him here to guard the horses against thieves."

The bailiff nodded. "Well, it all seems to be in order." He studied the paper in his hand. "Ah, I see here she's branded to be a body slave. Has she been performing to your satisfaction?"

Logan almost choked. That was one question he hadn't been expecting. "What happens at night ain't none o' yer business, mister!"

The bailiff studied him intently. "The reason I'm asking, Mister Logan, is because if she isn't we could help her along by having her spend a few weeks at Miss Hannah's in town. She said she'd be glad to teach your slave certain…techniques…to enhance your satisfaction, seeing as she's a little young to be real good at it."

Logan turned an alarming shade of purple. Remy hastily interjected a word before Logan could explode. "She doin' jus' fine, Mister," he said, leaning back and putting his feet on the table, smiling. "I can testify to dat." He was relieved when the bailiff took the smile the way he'd intended the man to take it.

"I'm glad to hear it," the bailiff said. "And now, I'd like to see her. Where is she?"

Logan led the way out the back door of the cabin to the training corral. Jubilee was on Thunder bareback today, training him to turn on a signal of hand and arm instead of foot or rein. It was a thinly veiled excuse for Jubilee to spend time with her beloved horse without having it seem like fun.

The bailiff frowned extremely hard. "She is not supposed to be on horseback."

Logan snapped, "She got my permission. It's part o' her work. I got her helpin' me with the horses. My main business is horse trainin', an' I need my horses ta be trained ta bridle, saddle, man an' woman riders."

The bailiff signaled to her. "You, girl! Off the horse!" Jubilee saw the three men standing by the fence rail, and slid off Thunder's bare back. The bailiff raised his eyebrows, but refrained from comment. Instead he addressed her when she stopped in front of them. "Come out here." Thunder was cantering around the corral, looking upset at the presence of the stranger. He'd gotten used to Remy being around; Logan he would let touch him, though not ride; but this new guy didn't seem to tickle his fancy at all. And the bailiff knew that.

Jubilee ducked obediently between the rails of the fence and came to a stop in front of the bailiff, head lowered, eyes respectfully downcast. She knew who he was.

"Have you been obeying your master?" The bailiff asked.

"Yes, sir," she said softly.

"Have you been doing all work assigned to you to his satisfaction?"

"Yes sir."

The bailiff poked her arm to check her muscles, then crouched and grabbed her leg, pushing her skirt up to feel her leg muscles. "Has your master had to correct you for anything at all?"

"No, sir." She stood quietly as the bailiff's hand slid further up, but her eyes widened, and then she gave a tiny, barely-audible gasp.

The bailiff said to Logan, "You are sure she is performing adequately for you and your guest?"

Logan turned purple. Jubilee's eyes met his, saw the anger, and knew if he lost his temper and struck the bailiff, they would be in trouble. Her eyes flew to Remy for help.

Remy stepped in close, cupped her chin in his hand, and pressed his lips full on hers. She stood quietly, passively, until he whispered to her, "Like you like it, _p'tite_, or we all in trouble." She opened her lips and let him plunder her mouth with utter abandon. Her eyelids fluttered closed as the feel of his tongue in her mouth woke a wonderful sensation in her mind, a need for more.

Remy felt like he was drowning. A part of him screamed at him to stop, that this was a little girl, but his other senses were full of the sight, smell, and taste of her. He hadn't kissed a woman like this in so long…and after all, girls younger than her were becoming pregnant each day…he broke off the kiss.

The bailiff studied Remy's face, Jubilee's slightly parted lips, then tapped her lip with a finger. She opened her mouth obediently, and he checked her carefully. "All teeth there," he wrote on the paper. "Sir, have you given her any other scars that might help identify her if she happens to run away from you?"

"No," Logan ground out through gritted teeth. He was going to shatter them soon if this kept up. How dare this man feel over her with no regard to her modesty or gender? And Remy…he was going to have a talk with the Cajun after the bailiff left.

The bailiff stepped back. "Get on with your work," he said, and she ducked tranquilly back between the fence rails and headed for Thunder again, mounting him bareback with ease. "How else does she occupy her time, besides helping you with the horses?" the bailiff asked.

"She sews shirts, makes her own clothes, stitches bridle and saddle leathers, works on the garden, feeds and waters the livestock, cooks and does dishes and housework," Logan bit off his words sharply.

The bailiff said, "We have had an anonymous report that she was also seen to ride on horseback to the west," The bailiff continued. "Can you tell me why she was doing so? The report simply said that she had showed a pass and had your permission."

Logan blinked, startled. Jubilee had never told him she was accosted and asked for her pass. Why hadn't she told him? "I do some tradin' with the Indians," he said. "One o' the braves had traded fer a horse o' mine, and I had ta send her over ta the camp with a blanket an' the horse's tack."

The bailiff nodded. "Just make sure she has a pass every time you send her on an errand."

Logan nodded. He always did. As if he'd forget. If he forgot, even once, she could be seriously hurt, or killed, if someone caught her without it and decided to give her a flogging.

The bailiff tipped his hat. "All seems to be in order, Mister Logan. Be sure you keep it that way. The soldiers'll stop in every now and then to make sure she's behaving. After all, out here, it would be easy for a slave to knife a master in the back and run." He mounted his horse and left, trotting back in the direction of town.

Logan waited until the man was out of earshot, then turned and caught the Cajun with a stiff right hook that laid the taller man out in the dust. "Damn yer hide, Cajun, I want ya offa my property in an hour! How dare ya touch my girl like that!"

Remy lay on the ground, dazed, rubbing his jaw. Damn. For all the older man's small stature, Remy was willing to bet there wasn't an ounce of body fat on him, the way that punch had felt. "Look, _mon_ _ami_," he said, sitting up and gingerly rubbing his aching jaw, "Dat _gendarme_ was tryin' to get us to prove we usin' her for what she a slave for. You know what happen if he t'ink we not using her at night? He tell you to hire her out to de whorehouse."

"Remy!" Jubilee shrieked, having just come around the corner of the cabin and seen Logan standing over Remy. She ran to him. "Remy? Are you all right? Papa, what did you do that for?"

"He grabbed ya an' kissed ya 'gainst yer will," Logan snapped. "Ain't gonna let nobody touch you 'thout you wantin' it."

"It took me by surprise, Papa, but if he hadn't I'd be under Mr. Hunter tomorrow in the whorehouse," she said angrily to him. "He felt me over. I tried to relax but he wasn't satisfied."

"He…just …put his…" Logan was speechless with shock.

"I'm just property, Papa. They can touch me and feel me and do anything they want to me. Any free person can order me to do anything, and I have to do it."

Logan's eyes narrowed. "That 'minds me, the Bailiff said someone'd delivered a report that said they'd stopped ya on yer way ta the Indian camp and asked fer yer pass. Why didn't ya tell me?"

Jubilee lowered her eyes. "I didn't want you to know," she said softly. "I was afraid you'd be upset if you found out." She looked at him sorrowfully, and said. "It was a group of soldiers. They stopped me and asked my business, and I gave them the pass. They told me to get down and kneel while they read it." Her eyes filled with tears. "They asked me to undress for them. They spent a while just touching me all over. I was afraid you'd be upset that I let them but I had to. If I didn't obey they'd beat me."

Logan growled. "Answer me truthfully, girl. You been stopped by anyone else? And has anyone…well.." he couldn't say the ugly word.

She shook her head no. "It was really close once. A passing lone soldier on his way back to the fort told me to get on my hands and knees and crawl for him, and then he asked me to remove my drawers so he could look at me. He didn't touch me, he just stood there and looked at me for a long time. Then he told me to get dressed and get on my way."

Logan felt his heart lurch. Dear God, she wasn't safe. He would have to go with her from now on. "No more solitary trips, okay?" he said. "They won't try anything if I'm there." He hugged her tightly, never seeing the look she gave Remy.

"You didn' tell him de trut'."

Jubilee looked up as the barn door closed behind Remy. "No, I didn't. It would tear him apart if he knew. I don't want to hurt Papa like that." She peered past him, as if to check and see if Logan was coming.

"He asleep, _chere_." She nodded as he sat down on the hay pile beside her. "So you still eating dem leaves I told you to eat so you don't get pregnant?"

She nodded. "Every day. I never know which day the soldiers will be passing by, and I don't want Papa to know. He'll get mad, and he'll go try to get them, and he'll get in trouble. I don't want him to get in trouble."

Remy shook his head. "He goin' to fin' out eventually, _chere_."

"If I'm careful, he won't." She caressed the silent, alert wolf at her side. "I always do what they tell me to. Always. Even if I hate it. They call me good girl, and they don't hurt me. If I resist they said they'd strap me. They hit me once, just so I'd know what it feels like to be strapped. I told Papa a saddle girth strap had come free and hit my leg." Remy nodded. He'd seen that stripe, and he knew what it was from, even if Logan hadn't. But he'd kept his silence.

"T'ank God dat he know about dem black slaves who used you," Remy said. He didn't use the word 'rape'; they both knew since she wasn't legally a person, it wasn't rape. "Ot'erwise your secret would be out by now. All dem times you wake up screaming in your sleep."

She swallowed hard. "I don't even have nightmares about it anymore. Just…once in a while, when they want me to…" she trailed off. Remy winced and shifted uncomfortably. "That hurts. I know when they want to do that too; they catch me a little further away from the ranch and 'escort' me part of the way so you and Papa won't hear me crying."

Remy sighed. "You can't continue to do dis, _chere_," he said softly as she lay down and pillowed her head on his lap. He stroked her hair. "It goin' to kill you. Please, _chere_--"

She sat up and pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't say it, Remy," she said. "Please. I want to come with you, I really do, but I can't, Papa needs me. If I leave, he won't know what to do. He was so lonely, Remy, before I came. I can't leave him."

"You rat'er stay here and be used like dis den come wit' me to freedom?" he said. "De only reason I stay here dese past t'ree weeks is b'cause Remy hoping you tell your Papa you coming wit' me. He would understan', _p'tite_. He not going to stop you. An' you know he not going to hurt you or punish you for wantin' your freedom."

"You can go, Remy," Jubilee said softly. "I won't keep you here. There are other slaves out there who need you to help them. I can handle it here."

Remy looked at her face, silvered with moonlight. "Don' tell me you not going to miss me."

"I will," and a tear made a sparkling track down her face. "I'll miss you terribly. But Papa needs me. I can't leave him. I won't leave him." She pulled the blanket up over her chest. "You should go in."

"I be leavin' tomorrow, den, if you don' need me," Remy said softly. "But, _chere_…give Remy a goodbye kiss?"

She leaned over the sleeping wolf and pressed her lips full against his. They kissed for a long time in the moonlight, then Remy pushed himself off the pile of hay and left, without a word, breathing hard.

The next day he was gone.


	21. Growing Up

Chapter 21: Growing Up

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, months turned into years. Logan and Jubilee settled into a daily routine that followed the letter of the law, even if they trampled all over the spirit of it.

The last spike was driven into the railroad that connected the western territories to the East, and the railroad work crew departed, much to Logan's relief. Walbrook was gone, back East, and he and Jubilee were left alone. The court's visits, at first every week, dwindled to once a month, then once every two months, then died off altogether. The population of Jackson and Jonesboro exploded, and soon the original inhabitants of the town were the wealthiest citizens. Wealth meant more luxury goods were shipped out, faster and cheaper, and some things that Logan missed from when he was living East came back into his life. Jubilee had found an old cookbook of Annie's among his things, and with his help, had started learning the recipes in it. He now had fresh bread she baked daily, and sweet butter. He'd bought another milk cow for her, and a churn, and it was nice having bread and butter again. They had straw ticks on their beds now; as soon as the sheriff had stopped coming he had moved her back on her bed. She still slept in the barn, sometimes, especially on nights when it was hot or when she had her woman's time.

The soldiers and the citizens of town had long since lost their fascination with Jubilee, since there were now so many new slaves in town, and more coming in daily. Logan watched them walk by whenever he was in town. Most of them looked like any other citizen on the street, except for the lowered eyes and head, and the slave collars around their throats. A few, though… a few of those slaves reinforced his personal belief that slavery was wrong. These slaves looked like they'd been beaten into the dirt and stomped on, looked hopeless and tired and defeated. Many of the male slaves who looked like that had deep, horrific whip scars on their backs. And not a few of the female slaves were swollen-bellied and ripely pregnant. They were all African. Logan was beginning to realize that Jubilee, with her light skin, was an oddity among them. When they rode into town, the African slaves stared at her; and when he would go inside and leave her outside to hold the horses he would almost invariably come out to find an African slave woman asking Jubilee how she'd gotten to be a slave.

Slave auctions were now a regular occurrence in both towns. Logan paused on the outskirts of one auction one day, out of curiosity; and saw male and female African slaves paraded on the auction block, led around by a collar and chain leash like Jubilee led Snow around, some with and some without clothes. Logan winced at the sight of one woman, wearing no clothing, covered in whip marks from her shoulders to her heels. Jubilee had shuddered, and he had turned away, sickened by the sight. Not his girl. His girl would never be marked like that.

Then one day he'd come out of a store and found her being pelted with dirt and rubbish from the streets by two African boy slaves. She'd crouched down, trying to protect herself from the stones, but not having much success. He'd chased the boys off, and asked Jubilee what had happened, but she didn't tell him until they were well out of town.

"The slaves don't like me," she said, shocking him. He'd thought all slaves would sympathize with each other. "I wear clothes, I'm fed, I sleep in a bed, eat when I want to, and they've never seen me whipped. They said I have it easy, and they said that since I was giving it to you so well that I could earn all these things, that maybe I could show them what you found so attractive about me."

Logan had ground his teeth. After Walbrook left and a new general store had opened up in Jonesboro, he'd started going there again because it was closer. Forget that. He'd go to Jackson, no matter how far it was.

He stood looking at the shelf of women's trinkets in the store, trying to think of something to get her. It had been three years ago tomorrow since she'd come into his life; she'd be seventeen. And she had grown up to be a beautiful woman. He picked up a pretty necklace of blue glass beads the same color as her eyes, and carried that to the counter along with the flour and yeast she needed to make bread, and the salt, sugar, coffee, and more rifle shells. As he was waiting for the storekeeper to total up his purchases, a man tapped him on the shoulder. "Howdy, there, mister."

"Hey," Logan said warily. Who was this stranger?

"Is that your girl out there with the horses?" The man said. Logan nodded slowly.

"She's a mighty pretty girl. Exotic, with all that hair and the pretty eyes." The man cleared his throat. "How much you want to sell her for?"

Logan bit back the growl. "She ain't fer sale."

The man hemmed. "Well, see, Mister, my wife's sort of taken a fancy to your slave, and she wants to see what the children'd look like if your girl was crossed with my black stud, Joseph. Black stud, yellow mare, their kids'd be pretty exotic. Fetch a good price at the block when time comes to be sold; if she has girls they could go for as much as three hundred apiece, if they're pretty. Her boys'd go for five hundred each. I'll offer ya six hundred for her."

Logan's eyes popped. Six hundred was the price of one of his good geldings, but it was nowhere near the value of her companionship, her presence, in his life. "She ain't fer sale, stranger," Logan insisted.

"Oh, please reconsider," said a female voice, and Logan saw a plump, matronly woman come from the back of the store with a handful of sewing needs and a bolt of cloth. "I've got my heart set on your girl. She's so pretty. And she'd drop such lovely children. Please?"

Logan gritted his teeth. The storekeeper watched interestedly, forgetting about Logan's purchases in the exchange. "I ain't sellin'," he said stubbornly. "She ain't gonna go with ya, anyway."

"Oh, don't worry, I can fix that," the woman said. "A few taps with the buggy whip on her bare back will change her mind." Logan stared at the woman, appalled. How could a woman talk so coolly about whipping another woman? "I tol' ya, she ain't fer sale," he said.

The storekeeper leaned forward. "That there little slave o' his's a branded body slave," he said to the man and woman. "There was a ruckus here a few years back when he tried to free her and her former owner said she'd been branded a body slave for life."

"Oh," the woman said, understandingly. "Well, when you want her all you have to do is knock. We'll be willing to let you have a few hours with her each week when you come to town. Or...I do have a little filly at home, Prissy, she serves as the body slave for our household. I had her hired out to Miss Hannah's a few months back, and she come back after a month with some exotic new skills she said some passing man taught her. We'll be willing to trade Prissy for your girl. That way you wouldn't be without female companionship."

"No!" Logan grabbed his hat off the counter, slapped a five on the counter to cover the purchases, and gathered everything up in his arms, going out to where the small wagon he'd built sat out by the hitching rail. Jubilee was checking the straps on the horse's bridles and traces, studiously, trying to ignore the obviously interested looks of the African slave holding the bridles of the horses next to her. Logan dropped all his purchases in the wagon bed as she climbed up into the seat, then got angrily onto Dark Star and turned him. Jubilee flicked the driving reins across the horse's back, and followed him out of the town.

"What happened, Papa?" she said when they were finally surrounded by empty prairie and on their way home. "Why are you so mad?"

"That African who was standin' next ta ya," Logan ground out through gritted teeth, "His Master asked me if I'd consider sellin' ya to them ta breed children with him. Said their slave was handsome, and yer pretty, and you'd 'drop' some pretty children that would fetch a lot on the auction block."

Jubilee didn't explode into temper, as he'd expected. Instead, she said softly, "Papa, he was handsome."

Logan turned. He'd been so certain she would hate the idea that he'd never thought to ask her. "Ya see yerself with one like him?" he asked, disbelievingly.

"No!" Jubilee said, startled. "I said…well…he was handsome, Papa, but that doesn't mean I want him. I'd like to have children one day, but not with someone like him. And…" Her lower lip trembled. 'I don't think I could bear to see my children sold away from me. Papa, please, if I ever have any you won't sell them away, will you?"

"No!" Logan was horrified at the thought, and stopped Dark Star in his tracks. "Yer kids're yer kids. I wouldn't never send them off!"

"What if they were yours?" she asked, so softly he almost didn't hear her. It took a moment for that to penetrate.

"What?" he stared at her.

"What if they were yours?" she repeated. "Logan, I may call you Papa, but you're not, not really. You're my Master, and I can't forget that. I'm also a branded body slave. I don't know why you're waiting to use me for what I was branded for. The last time we were in Jackson I saw a girl go by, and she was the same age I was when you bought me from the Railmaster, and she was pregnant. She was proud of it. She said she was doing what she was supposed to do, serving her master the way he wanted her to, and giving him a child he said he'd never sell away from him because it was his. His wife would raise the child, because it was so close to white you'd never be able to tell the difference, and he'd grow up to be a free man. I want that, Logan. I want to know that my children will be free, won't be sold, because they're a free man's child and are therefore free too. If I'm bred to a slave they'll be slaves too. I can't change what I am, but maybe I can change what they'll be."

"I am NOT going to use you like that!" Logan exploded, shouting in frustration. "Is that why you suddenly started sleepin' on the floor beside my bed? You want me ta take ya, use ya like that? I won't do it!"

Tears filled her eyes. "Then what was I branded for?" she whimpered. "Why did I endure all that pain when the brand touched my skin? It hurts, when I see you coming around the side of the barn, or when you head for town all dressed up in the afternoons for Miss Gina's or Miss Hannah's. I know what you're going to do there, and I feel worthless, because you don't think I'm pretty enough to use me for what I'm supposed to be used for." She slapped the reins on the horse's back and hurried the wagon past him, crying.

Logan stood there, stunned speechless. He'd never thought she would mind his visits to the whorehouses in town. He'd never thought she knew. Was that what she thought, that he didn't think she was pretty enough to use for bed games? Did she think…did she really feel like she was worthless?

He found her lying facedown on her bed, sobbing. He sat beside her and patted her back gently until her sobs died off into sniffles. "Jubilee," he said gently. "I don't think yer ugly, or nothin' like that. Yer a beautiful girl." Truthfully, sometimes he would catch a glimpse of her heading down to the creek to bathe, and he would have to fight his body's urges. She was a beautiful girl, and the past three years had put curves on her body that made him want to…if she were any other girl. But if she were another girl, he wouldn't have her here. "But yer my daughter, an' it wouldn't be right. I can't do that to ya, darlin', I can't force ya like you been forced. I can't look at ya without thinkin' o' ya lyin' under them Africans in the boxcar back at that damn railroad camp and cryin' 'cause they hurt ya like that."

"You don't want me because I was used by Africans? But Red Doe said that wouldn't matter to someone who loves me." Logan was going to have a talk with Red Doe, and soon.

"I didn't mean that…" Logan took a deep breath. "Jubilee, I love ya. I don't care who's been between yer legs. But I don't want ta use ya like that. I love ya like a daughter. I think o' ya sometimes as Alice. And I'd no more be able ta sleep with ya than if ya really was my flesh an' blood daughter. Ya shouldn't feel worthless; ya should feel treasured, 'cause I think too much o' ya than ta tell ya ta sleep with me."

She stopped, thinking about that. "I didn't think of that," she admitted. "All right. I'm sorry, Papa. It just…I want children some day, and I want them to be free, and the only way they'll be free is if their father is a freeman. But no freeman would want a slave; my only options are another slave, or one of the young men Red Doe wants me to marry. But I can't see me with one of them, Papa. I like living in a cabin, and having cloth clothes. I don't really want to live in a tipi and move wherever the buffalo go."

Logan's heart ached. Annie had told him the same thing; she wanted kids. Women seemed to want babies. It was a part of them, he guessed. He could give Annie what she wanted; he couldn't however, give Jubilee the two things she wanted; freedom and children. His voice was soft as he said, "What 'bout that Cajun? You seemed to get 'long with him well 'nuff."

Jubilee's eyes filled with tears, and Logan cursed himself again. What had he mentioned that man's name for? She had never spoken a word about him after he had left. She had seemed a little down, but Logan noticed that it had been about that time of month, and she usually got quiet around that time. "I liked him, Papa," she whispered finally, and his heart contracted. Oh God. Her tone of voice was soft, and tender, and he knew she'd more than 'liked' the Cajun, he'd been her first love. "That time he kissed me…I thought I was drowning, and I wanted him so much…but I was too young, and he had things he needed to do, and he wouldn't want a little slave girl anyway. He wanted to take me to Canada, free me, but I can't leave you, Papa, I love you, and I won't leave. I'll stay a slave forever, never have babies, nothing, if I can stay with you."

Logan scooped her up in his arms, hugging her tightly. "Stay with me, then," he said. "As long as ya want."


	22. Remy's Return

Chapter 22:

Logan sat on the corral fence, balanced easily on the thin wooden rail, and whittled at a chunk of wood as he watched Jubilee and the young brave work the piebald Indian pony on a lunge line.

"No, not like that," Jubilee said, laughing a little, "You have to turn with the pony. Otherwise you'll get all tangled up in the line." She reached out and placed her small hands on the brave's sides, turning him as the Indian pony ran on the end of the line.

Logan watched closely. Jubilee had become a little better about touching, or being touched, by other people; but she still tended to keep herself restrained around others. He was the only one who saw the exuberant, bubbly side to her personality, the sudden bursts of laughter, the little dance of happiness she did in the warm spring sunshine when she went down to the creek to wash clothes or bathe.

The Indian braves had started showing an interest in her soon after he'd given her the blue beaded necklace that marked her third year with him. He'd decided then and there that since she didn't know when her real birthday was, he'd make that her birthday.

The braves had started coming. At first only a few bold individuals, claiming they wanted to trade with him for horses he had but in reality hoping to get a glimpse of his reputedly lovely daughter. He traded with them, introduced her to them, then watched girl and brave to see whether they would get along. She was polite, but cool, to the ones she didn't like; they generally didn't return. Some she liked, but would go out of her way to acquaint them with the fact that she was considered white man's property; they would then come back as friends, but no more than that. She never showed an interest in any of them, until one day this brave came to the door. Logan could almost see the sparks fly between them. The brave had asked about his training methods, and Logan had invited him back so Jubilee could show him how they trained horses.

Stamping Buffalo was a huge brave from Soaring Eagle's camp. Standing six and a half feet tall, fully a foot and a half taller than Logan himself, with huge hands and muscular arms, he dwarfed Jubilee, who was now only a bare few inches shorter than Logan. It had been a surprise to him to wake up one morning and find that he no longer had to duck his head to kiss her cheek. But for all that size and muscle and brawn, he had a gentle soul inside him that hated to hurt any living thing beyond what was necessary to obtain food. The thought of Jubilee being whipped was incomprehensible to him. And Jubilee had responded to his interest with her own, although Logan had yet to find out if the interest was simply interest or might turn into something else eventually. So he had offered to train Buffalo's horse for him.

The horse was huge. Logan wondered where Buffalo had found this one. He had to be a large horse, for most Indian ponies would be unable to carry the weight and bulk of the large brave. The piebald in the corral was fully seventeen hands high, with legs the size of small tree trunks and a thick neck with a savage, ugly head. Buffalo had told them that the horse's temperament and nature were as ugly as its exterior, but he wasn't going to find another horse that could carry his weight like the piebald could. Logan had made the agreement without having seen the horse, and had almost rescinded the offer when he saw the horse. The rolling eyes on that beast meant only one thing, trouble, and Logan wasn't sure Jubilee could handle the horse. He'd taken to watching the training, coming out with a piece of wood and his knife to whittle while he kept an eye on the horse. So far nothing untoward had happened, but he still felt a sense of foreboding.

"All right. Come on now, trot!" Jubilee flicked the line on the horse's back. The horse paused for a moment, and rolled one white eye at the girl, as if considering whether it was going to obey or not. Jubilee brandished the whip, threatening to touch the horse with it although Logan knew she wouldn't. That was the one thing Logan didn't approve of. Sometimes a horse, especially a renegade like this one, needed to have some sense whipped into his tough hide; but Jubilee hated whips, never picked one up unless it was absolutely necessary, and never, ever hit a horse with it. Most horses seemed to appreciate it; they did what she wanted. This horse, though, was spoiling for a whipping. Logan knew if the horse hurt Jubilee he'd take the whip to that thick black and white hide himself.

Jubilee stopped the horse, finally, when horse, man, and herself was wet and dripping. She wiped her sweating forehead with the back of her arm and sighed. "Can I keep him here overnight? Maybe the wildness of the other Indian ponies is affecting him. I'd like to turn him out in the geldings' pasture and see if the lack of aggressiveness helps settle him some. I'll give you Thunder; he'll carry your weight." Logan was surprised; she'd never offered Thunder to anyone before.

Thunder and the brave seemed to get along. Jubilee simply pointed her horse out to the brave and left them. Thunder had been gentled a bit, or maybe it was just age; but he allowed the brave to mount him, and went with him seemingly willingly enough.

Jubilee finally turned the piebald out into the pasture, and met Logan climbing down off the corral fence. She sighed and wrapped an arm around his waist. "I don't understand it, Papa. Most horses misbehave a few times deliberately until I raise the whip, then I don't use it, I just keep making the horse do the same thing over and over again, wearing him down with patience, until he decides that I'm not going to stop ordering him to do…whatever…until he does it. But Savage doesn't do it. He deliberately challenges me, and doesn't back down. I have to snap the whip before he gives in, and I have to keep snapping it so he does what I want him to do. It's almost like he's asking for it, Papa, and I don't know why."

Logan sighed and draped an arm over her shoulders. "I dunno know either, kid. Some horses are like that; I usually don't mess with 'em. I almost told Buffalo we wouldn't do it, but ya seemed ta kinda fancy him a little, an' I want ya ta fin' someone ya can be happy with."

She turned to look at him. "That was why? Papa, do you want me to leave you?"

Logan hugged her firmly. "I want ya ta be happy, Jubes. If ya haveta leave me ta be happy, then that's what I want ya to do. I'll miss ya terribly, but ya got a right ta live yer own life an' have babies an' all that. If ya like that brave, I'm willin' ta work somethin' out so ya can go off with him an' have all the babies ya want."

Jubilee sighed. "Papa, I won't lie, I do like him. But I don't think I like him enough to sleep with him and have his babies. I mean, I think he'd make a wonderful husband to a woman someday, and he'd be a wonderful father, but I don't see him like that. He just…he doesn't understand, papa. He doesn't understand what a slave is, what it means. I tried to explain it to him, but papa, the Indians treat their horses like they treat their children. They have no concept of what it's like to be a slave, to be watched all the time, to be whipped for every tiny little thing we do wrong. He can't comprehend sitting next to a bucket of water all day and being forbidden to drink. He's never gotten so thirsty and seen water and not been allowed to drink. I tell him, and his brain understands, but his heart doesn't. No one understands, except Re--" she broke off, blushing furiously.

Logan sighed. 'I tried, darlin'. I asked if anyone'd seen a handsome Cajun the last time I went to Miss Gina's. They hadn't. I'm sorry, he's gone. If I could, I'd bring him back here for you. I was planning on going to Miss Hannah's an' askin' her if she'd seen him tomorrow."

"Papa, please. Don't. I do care for him, a lot, and I would like to see him, but I'm staying here with you. I'll stay with you as long you want me here. I love you, Papa."

"Oh, darlin'. I love ya too. But I'm willin' ta pay the price of not havin' ya if it means yer gonna be happy."

Jubilee sighed as they went into the cabin. "Well, he hasn't been back in the last few years, and there are a lot of places he could be. I'm not worried about it. What do you want for dinner?"

Logan went to bed after dinner, and watched her sit up a while sewing a new saddle blanket for Thunder for a while until his eyelids closed. When he opened them again, he saw the fire had died, and the cabin was chilly. Spring had just arrived, but it was still early enough for him to feel a bit of winter's chill in the air.

He got up and put another log on the fire, stoking it until the cabin was warm again. Then he went over to Jubilee's bed. She lay on it, sleeping, her face shadowed in the firelight dancing off the walls. He pulled the rabbit skin blanket he'd made for her up a little further toward her chin, and tucked the ends under her arms. She sighed, rolled over, and whispered something, a name, under her breath before slipping back into deep sleep.

Logan went back to bed, staring at the ceiling, troubled. Remy. She'd whispered Remy's name. It sounded like purring, sensual caress; the way his name had sounded on Annie's lips. Dear God, she must really have been in love with the boy, to have clung to the memory of his name and his kiss for so long, She hadn't seen him in almost four years; she wasn't likely to see him again; and yet…

Logan got up, unable to sleep, and picked up his knife and the wood he'd been whittling. He'd wanted to carve her a miniature of Thunder that she could tuck in the bottom of the little box hidden under the floorboards, the box that kept all of her personal mementos, like the box under his bed held his. He'd caught the horse in Jubilee's favorite position, head flung high and proud in a rear, mane and tail flowing gracefully. He'd always been good with a blade. He used it as an extension of his own arm and hand, letting his knife carve the shape that was in his mind as he thought about what to do with Jubilee. She said she was happy; that was true when she was younger, and the fracas almost four years ago over the free papers had done little to suppress her enthusiasm for living here with him. She had continued as if it had never happened, although she'd shed some bitter tears over the ten white scar lines on his back. But they were nowhere near as bad as the five the Railmaster had given her.

He sat awake, finishing the little horse and thinking, as the sun climbed high over the horizon.

The sun rose higher as he traveled over the grass prairie toward Jackson. She'd told him she intended to work some more on Buffalo's horse today, and he had wondered briefly if he ought to tell her to wait for him to come home. Suppose something happened that she couldn't handle? But she had plenty of experience, and she told him that Buffalo was coming soon to help her, so he'd left her and headed for town, driving the wagon.

He stopped in at the store and picked up some more cloth (she said she wanted to make him a new pair of trousers out of the new thick blue cotton cloth someone had come up with). Feeling the material through his fingers, he was surprised at the strength and the thickness. This would be just the thing for him to wear when riding or working with the horses. He thought a little more, then picked out another bolt. She could make a dress for herself out of it, and then she wouldn't have to constantly be patching up her heavy cotton skirt. A dress of this stuff would be better for her to work in.

He came out of the store and heaved the bolt of cloth into the wagon, and was just swinging into the wagon seat when he saw a horse tied to the hitching post across the street. A big, glossy chestnut, with a flowing black mane and tail; it was stamping restlessly and irritably as the smith and another man in a long, dusty brown traveling coat inspected a front hoof. Logan stared at the horse; it looked familiar. Surely… And then, as he stared, the man in the dusty coat took his hat off to wipe his sweaty brow, and Logan saw the familiar locks of auburn hair. It was _Remy_!

He slid out of the wagon seat and ran across the street, dodging the wagons that passed in front of him. "Remy!" He shouted. "Remy LeBeau!"

Remy's head jerked up; he scanned the street for the source of the sound, and then saw Logan coming toward him. "Logan!" he exclaimed, pounding the other man's back in an excess of happiness. "Long time Remy didn' see you! How you doin'?" He took a quick peek behind Logan. "Where de p'tite? She not wit' you anymore? She sold, maybe?" He looked apprehensive.

Logan grinned and slapped the taller man on the arm. "Naw, I ain't never gonna sell her, an' ya know that! She's back at the ranch, workin' one o' the horses."

"She okay?" The Cajun frowned.

"Yeah. Why?" Logan asked, seeing the apprehensive look on the other man's face.

"Remy put his horse on de train and took de train west. Was going to ride de length of de rail, an' see what slavery look like on de wes' coas'. Den I see de man dey call Walbrook, de Railmaster, and' he was talkin' to a frien' o' his 'bout stoppin' here an' gettin' de 'girl who got away' from him. I figure he was talkin' bout your girl, an' I figure on stoppin' in to see how you doin, an' warnin' ya."

Logan went cold all over. "He ain't gittin' her. Thanks fer the warnin'. Ya got any plans fer the night? Yer welcome ta come stay."

Remy looked uncomfortable. "_Non, Monsieur_, Remy figure he jus' goin' to stop in an' den go. Don' wanna intrude."

"Won't be intrudin'," Logan said firmly. "Promise. Be jus' like the last time ya stopped in." He met the other man's eyes squarely. "She like ta see ya too."

Remy thought for a moment, then nodded. "Let me get Rogue looked at, den we go out to your place, _oui_?" he said with a cheerful grin.

Logan growled, "Don' be too long. Wanna hurry an' get back. She's okay as long as she stays in, but lately we been a little lax 'bout followin' all them damn rules 'bout passes and suchlike."

Remy nodded. "Okay. Remy try not to take too long."

The smith went as quickly as possible, replacing the worn shoes on Remy's horse, but it was still late afternoon by the time the two men were on their way back to the property. Logan was silent most of the way, except for small talk; he was trying to figure out how to tell the man that he thought Jubilee fancied him. And how would he react? Would he want a little slave girl? He finally decided to let things happen on their own, and spent a little bit of time telling Remy all about the events of the past few years.

"Jubilee!" he shouted as he walked up to the gate and unlocked it, opening it. "Hey, kid! We got a visitor!" He was puzzled when there was no answering shout or patter of feet. "Jubilee? Hey, where are ya?"

The cabin looked the same as it had that morning; no supper waiting, no sign of any being prepared. The animals were calling hungrily for their supper, too. Logan wandered out to the corral, wondering if she was just working one of the horses late, but the corral was empty. The long training whip lay in the dust, dropped and forgotten, as if someone had left in a hurry; and then when he walked into the barn for the chicken's feed he saw her saddle and bridle were missing too, as well as the coil of rope she used to rope horses with. He ran out to the pasture and looked; sure enough, Thunder was missing. He returned to the corral, studying the footprints, and read the story trampled into the dust there. She had been working with a big horse, Buffalo's horse, judging from the size of the hoof prints. There had been a scuffle; the horse had suddenly changed direction on the far side of the fence and rushed her. She'd stood her ground until the last second, then moved when it was obvious the horse wasn't going to stop. Savage had rushed on past her, gathered his hindquarters, and leaped the fence. Her frail strength had not been able to hold onto the end of the lunge line, and it had probably been pulled out of her hands. Alarmed, she'd called for Thunder, saddled him up, and ridden him out to catch the escaped horse. But how long ago had she left? Dusk was falling, and night would be here soon. She couldn't track a horse at night, and she didn't have a pack or blanket to sleep on. She would be home soon.

He pushed aside the nagging worry and went back to the cabin to wait.


	23. Tragedy

Chapter 23:

Jubilee finished breakfast and changed quickly into her working clothes. She wanted to get in some time with Savage before Stamping Buffalo came.

Savage laid back his ears and snapped when she came near, but quieted when she smacked him firmly across the shoulder. She wasn't going to fool with him today; she'd taken yesterday to measure him up, and she was going to try a different tack with him today. He looked surprised at her sudden show of firmness, then meekly ducked his head so she could slip the halter over his ears. He followed her quietly out to the training corral, and broke into a quiet walk when she commanded him to.

His initial surprise wore off as the morning progressed. By the time the sun hit its zenith, he was tossing his head and pacing fractiously. She snapped at him, snarled at him, and once touched him lightly with the whip, but it did no good. Finally she lowered the whip, held the rope, and simply watched as he cavorted and kicked around the corral, apparently pleased with himself.

She finally came to the conclusion that he really was asking for it. She remembered what Logan had told her about his taming of Storm; he'd told her that he had to beat some sense into that stubborn head. She hated whipping horses; she knew what a whip felt like, and she didn't want to inflict that kind of pain on any living being; but she had learned a lesson from Molly; sometimes you have to wallop some sense into that stubborn head. She let him rest and have a drink of water while she ate a couple slices of cold beef slapped between two slices of her bread and butter, then went back out to the corral.

They started with a gentle walk, but this time, when Savage balked, she tapped his rump gently but firmly with the whip. Surprised, he did what she wanted him to do, starting to walk. But after a few rotations, she saw him eyeing her speculatively. That was her only warning. He broke into a canter without her command.

She signaled him to stop, tugging on the lunge line at the same time. He threw back his head and reared. She pulled him down, disciplined him with a firm tap on the rump with the training whip, and watched as he dropped back down, surprised and unhappy with the sudden turn of events.

They kept working, and by the middle of the afternoon she saw the saw the idea had finally sunk in. He was supposed to obey her, do exactly what she said, and he'd avoid getting smacked with that whip.

She finally stopped him with a simple word and went up to him, patting him and talking gently. He nuzzled her, not affectionately, but there was more respect for her than there had been that morning. She stepped back finally and urged him in a gentle walk to cool him down. Buffalo had not come, and she knew, from how far away his tribe was, he would not be coming today.

She was jerked from her musings by the sound of a gunshot splitting the quiet. Someone must be hunting. She jumped reflexively at the sudden sound in the quietness of the afternoon, then calmed back down.

Not Savage. The horse reared, eyes rolling wildly, and even though she shouted at him to stop, her sudden tug on the lunge line out of simple surprise had told him otherwise. He reared again, then burst into a frantic run across the corral, whinnying. Jubilee stood where she was, trying to stop him by standing in his way, but when it became apparent that he wasn't going to stop she flung herself out of the way, dropping the rope as she did so. He kept running, and for a moment she thought he was going to crash into the fence, but at the last moment he gathered himself and sailed over the fence with a foot to spare. The last she saw of him, he was pounding off into the tree line.

She swore as she got to her feet and ran for the barn. Grabbing her tack and a long coil of rope, she whistled for Thunder as she ran back out. Thunder came to a stop beside the gate, sensing her urgency, and she threw the saddle on his back and yanked the girth straps closed, then flung herself on his back. She dashed through the gate, paused to push it closed, then took off across the prairie after the escaped horse.

She tracked him into the tree line and up into the low hills. She paused by the bank of a stream, looking for his exit point, when a voice behind her laughed unpleasantly. She whirled.

A horse was tethered to a tree not too far away, and leaning against another one was the Railmaster, Matthew Walbrook. He laughed again. "Well, hello," he said. "You might be a bit more grown, but I'd definitely remember you no matter how big you get. Is your protector here?" he peered back down her trail.

Jubilee's mouth went dry. She couldn't lie and say Logan was; there was no sign of him. There was no one out here but herself and Walbrook. "I must go," she swallowed. "One of Master Logan's horses escaped, and I have to find him and bring him back."

She touched her heels to Thunder's flanks, and was about to ride away when Walbrook said, "Where's your pass?"

She froze. The pass! Logan kept a pass for every occasion in the jar of money in the cabin. She had forgotten to pick up the right one in her hurry to catch the escaping horse. "I—I was in too much of a hurry," she whispered, voice dropping. "I forgot. Please…"

"Get off the horse!" it was a whipcrack demand. Jubilee slowly dismounted.

"You know the rules! You're not to be on horseback without permission, and you're not to be off your master's property without permission. You've been caught on horseback, with no pass; that's 25 lashes; you're off your master's property, that's 20 lashes. You've got forty-five lashes to take, girl, start stripping. The sooner we get done the sooner you're going to get to go find your master's horse." He uncoiled the long, familiar black bullwhip from his belt.

Jubilee screamed in terror and panic, and threw herself at Thunder, trying to scramble onto his back and flee. Walbrook lunged for her, caught the sleeve of her dress, and the thin, worn material tore. He let go of the sleeve and caught her wrist, throwing her back against the tree as he grabbed the coil of rope from Thunder's saddle. "Well, thank you for bringing me something to tie you with," he smiled, his eyes gleaming. He grabbed her right wrist and tied the end of the rope around it, then grabbed her other wrist and pulled her chest tight to the tree and tied her left wrist to the right one. Her legs kicked frantically, but she couldn't escape, with her arms tied hugging the tree. She saw the gleam of steel, and seconds later it sliced through the cloth of her shirt and skirt. A quick rip, and she was nude.

Walbrook leaned in and smiled as his hands roved across her backside. "Well, nice and pretty. If I'd known you was going to turn out so pretty I'd never have sold you to him. How many times have you spread your legs for him, hey?" She threw her head back and screamed for help. Maybe a passing patrol of soldiers, or Indians. Anybody.

"Ah-ah," Walbrook sorted through the rags that used to be her clothing and grabbed her torn sleeve. 'Wouldn't want you to be rescued by some of your redskin friends, would we, now?" He stuffed the cloth into her mouth, tied another strip behind her head, keeping all of it in her mouth, then lowered his head to her shoulder and bit the sensitive skin at the junction of her shoulder and neck. She screamed as blood welled up, and flowed, but since she was effectively silenced by the cloth, nothing came out but a muffled moan.

He stepped back, drew the lash back, and struck.

She shrieked. It had been almost four years since she'd felt the whip on her back; her feet danced frantically, and she pulled in vain against the rope tying her hands. The rope had withstood the tugs of countless wild horses; it was not now going to give from her helpless pulling. She was trapped.

He paused after the first ten, watching her frantic writhing as blood streaked the pale skin of her back and ran down her legs. She could barely scream anymore, the agony was unbelievable. She had taken five and six before, but the judicial whipping she had received from the sheriff in Jackson had been nowhere near as vicious as this one was. And she still had thirty-five more to go. She choked on her sobs, the wet cloth filling her mouth making it hard to swallow, and tears and saliva coated her face. She sobbed in pain and humiliation as he kicked her legs apart standing there and ran his hands between her thighs.

The soldiers never bothered her anymore. Six months after Remy left, they had stopped accosting her and using her body. She hadn't been used in three years, and her body had closed up to almost virginal tightness. His finger hurt as it probed into her, but worse than the pain was the humiliation. Throwing her head back, she could see the tightness of his trousers across his groin as he stepped back and raised the whip again.

Ten more, and she leaned into the tree, sobbing in agony. He hadn't confined his attentions to her back; he'd lashed the backs of her legs and her backside, too. Twenty bleeding red lines decorated the back of her body from shoulders to calves, and she was almost ready to pass out from the pain.

She stirred weakly as he untied one wrist, but instead of releasing her he pressed her lacerated back to the tree, causing her to scream in fresh agony as the rough bark dug into the open wounds. He ignored her pain and pulled her arms behind her, tying her wrists around the tree again. Then he raised the whip again, and it was so much worse, now, she could see it coming and could scream in terror before the lash struck her. He placed the last twenty-five across the front of her body.

She passed out twice, once while he was hitting her breasts, thrust out by her tied wrists, and again when he was whipping her lower belly and upper thighs. He woke her up by striking her face repeatedly with the heavy butt of the whip, and when she was semi-conscious he cut her down from the tree and dropped her to the ground, ignoring her sobs as he brutally violated her.

She was unconscious when he finally got off her, and he stood looking down at the limp, sprawled body under him as he pulled his trousers back on and tucked his shirt in. He pulled his foot back, kicking her hard in the ribs. He heard the snap of cracking bone.

A silent white wraith slipped through the trees, catching him by surprise. It passed him briefly and paused just outside his reach, and he didn't realize he was cut until he looked down and saw the blood staining his pant leg.

Snow stepped further into the clearing, his eyes catching the last rays of the setting sun, and snarled, every tooth showing whitely through the darkness. He'd come back to the human dwelling after a night spent rambling the forest, and found no one there. He'd sniffed around, found the scent of his mistress mixed with the scent of the horse, and went to the horse trough for water. When the horse came back, his mistress would return. All he had to do was wait.

When she didn't come back, and there was no sign of the male human who lived here either, Snow became concerned. He slid under the fence and loped off into the hills, stopping every so often to sniff the ground for his mistress's scent. When he finally did find it, it was mixed with blood, and he growled low in his throat, too softly for anyone to hear. He sneaked forward, circling the clearing by the stream, and approached it from downwind so his scent wouldn't spook the strange horse he smelled in the clearing.

There was another human scent in the clearing, and the smell of his mistress's fear and pain was strong. He had become used to that scent associated with this man; he hadn't smelled the scent in a long time, but he would never forget it. He snarled again as he saw his mistress lying on the ground. Her human fur was stripped from her, as it only was when she was bathing, but there was no smell of water on her. Only the bad human male. And blood. He decided he didn't like that combination, and he darted in, slashing the male's leg to the bone, before leaping away, out of reach of the fire sticks that humans used to kill food. From that distance he regarded the man carefully.

The bad male didn't retaliate with fire, and Snow, looking around, didn't see one of the fire sticks. He took a risk, leaping for the man again, and the man stepped back, pressing his back against the tree that was also liberally coated with his mistress's blood-and-pain scent. Snow leaped, snarling triumphantly, and the last thing Walbrook saw before the sharp white fangs laid open his throat was the startling blue eyes of the wolf. Those eyes pinned him, accused him with the death of the young woman silently lying on the ground not two feet from him. The sight of that still body was the picture he took down with him into darkness.

Snow sniffed curiously at the dead human male. He had been so easy to kill. Even sick prey was harder. These humans were fragile after all. He'd never thought they were so easy to kill. He took one last sniff as death settled over the body with its throat torn out, then, ignoring the spasmodic twitching, he loped over to his mistress.

She still lay where she'd fallen, still and quiet. Snow sniffed at her, whined a little, pawed at her face gently. She was lying still. It wasn't good. She should get up and put her human fur on so they could go back to the human den they lived in.

He sat down beside her, patiently, waiting. After a long time, he sniffed and whined at her, pawing her, then scratched her limp hand gently with a paw. There was still no response. The moon rose, full, silvering her body, and Snow decided that maybe she couldn't put her fur back on. Would the other male, the one who shared the den with his mistress, be able to do it? He got up and trotted purposefully off into the trees, heading for the human den.


	24. Hurting

Chapter 24:

Logan got up for the tenth time, going to the door and opening it. She should be back by now. The moon was full, and there were so many things that could happen at night to a defenseless, unarmed girl. He paced restlessly back and forth listening for the sound of hoofbeats on the path up to his gate.

He wasn't the only one. Remy LeBeau had gotten up to check the back door twice in the last hour, plainly as worried as he. "Maybe we should go find her, _homme_?" he suggested, but Logan gestured out the door.

"It's dark. I can't track in the dark. Where would I look? Maybe she went to Stamping Buffalo's tribe to give that devil horse back, and they invited her to spend the night. Who knows?" Logan was about to close the cabin door when a sudden bark from outside caught his attention.

Snow glided under the front gate and came loping purposefully to the front door. He barked once, sharp and demanding, and waited.

"I don't know where she is, wolf," Logan growled. "You go find her!"

Snow bounded off the step, retreated two steps into the darkness, then ran back to the door and barked again. Remy shot upward from his chair as Logan cursed. "I t'ink he did find her!"

Logan was already grabbing the lantern and a bridle and a blanket. "Yeah, I think so too." He ran outside, whistling for Dark Star, and the horse came to a stop just inside the fence, waiting for Logan to open the gate. Logan slipped a rope halter around the horse's head, then jumped up on the horse bareback after draping the blanket on the glossy black back. Remy didn't bother with a blanket. He slipped the bridle on Rogue and jumped on the horse completely bareback.

Snow took off through the darkness, and Remy and Logan followed. Snow went up to the foothills, and started to climb higher. The two men followed.

It seemed like an eternity to the two men before Snow barked sharply and turned off onto a deer trail. Remy lifted his head and sniffed the air, and Logan did too. Logan smelled it first. Blood. Raising the lantern high, he went cautiously into the brush.

Two more feet, and the trees suddenly opened up into a little clearing. Logan gasped in horror, but his gasp was lost in Remy's cry of anguish. Remy didn't wait for his horse to stop, he just slid off the still moving animal and hit the ground running. By the time Logan stopped Dark Star and grabbed the blanket, Remy was on his knees, touching the white shoulder gently. "_Non, non, ma cherie, non, mon Dieu_," he sobbed, whimpered almost, gathering the too-limp body in his arms. "_Non, s'il vous plait, non_…"

Logan felt tears spring to his eyes as he repeated Remy's words. "No, please, God, no," he whispered brokenly as he went to his knees beside the sobbing man and his beloved daughter. She was so still, her skin pale under the dried blood that caked her skin and hair. He reached for the knot behind her head, untied it, and pulled what seemed like wads of blood-streaked cloth from her mouth. As he touched her cheek gently, she took a deep, sobbing breath. "P…papa?" her voice was hoarse, raspy from screaming into the gag.

"I'm right here, darlin'," he said, wrapping the blanket around her. "I'm right here."

"Hurt…" She whined in agony. "Papa, I hurt…"

"We're goin' home, darlin', we're goin' home. You'll be all right. Come on." Remy tried to get to his feet still carrying her, but his knee bumped up against her side. She screamed in agony, a terrible, harsh sound, and passed out again.

Remy gasped as a thin trickle of blood came from the corner of her mouth. "She hurt bad, _mon ami_, we got to get her home…" He got to his feet, carefully but quickly. She was unconscious; he couldn't cause her any further pain. He carried her over to Thunder, who sensed the urgency and miraculously held still as Remy put her in the saddle, Logan helping. Logan took a last look back at Walbrook's body, but Remy shook his head grimly. "T'roat tore out, Logan. Not'ing we can do for him, not dat I want to. Leave him here for de animals to eat." Remy mounted his horse, leading Walbrook's horse behind him, and Logan rode Dark Star, leading Thunder. Thunder seemed to know something was wrong with his mistress, and stepped carefully around obstacles in his path, trying not to jar his cargo. Snow glided along at Thunder's stirrup, silent and watchful.

They pulled up in front of the cabin, and Remy slid off. He lifted the unconscious girl from the saddle, Logan watching unprotestingly. Remy was taller, and could reach her without jarring her much. Logan would have had a more difficult time.

Remy carried her into the cabin, and Logan slipped the halters off the horses and hurried after him, too worried about Jubilee to take care of them. He threw another log on the fire, put a pot of water on to boil for a tea to help her pain, and then turned to the Cajun and his daughter.

Remy was busy with a cloth, wiping at the blood crusting her wounds. "_Mon Dieu_," he whispered. "How many lashes he give her?"

Logan knelt on the other side of the bed, taking another rag and doing what he could to clean the wounds on her left side. He flinched as he realized that the welts, while spread out over the front and back of her body, seemed worst around her intimate areas. "Too many," he whispered, his throat closing with anguish as he tried to fight the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes "Too damned many. If Snow hadn't torn the bastard's throat out, I would've."

Remy's fingers slid over her battered torso, feeling their way down gently. Logan was about to snap at him for taking liberties when he saw Jubilee's body jerk in agony, and Remy gasped softly. "He break her bone here," he said softly. "You got anyt'ing stiff? A t'in piece of wood, an' some long strips of cloth?" Logan wordlessly fetched the splint and cloth that Jubilee had used to splint his fractured leg last year when a horse had kicked him, and Remy placed it against Jubilee's side. Logan took her upper body in his arms, holding her torso upright as Remy bound her torso with strips of cloth to the wooden splint. "She not goin' to be able to get up till dat bone heal," Remy said grimly. "A week, at least." He rummaged around in his traveling pack until he came up with a familiar bag, and emptied a few packets from it onto the table. He handed a large one to Logan. "Dump all dat into a cup of hot water. It goin' to soak up de liquid. Den mash it into a t'ick paste. It smell bad, but I got to put dat on her ches' an' hips. Den take dat small packet, de one in red paper? Put all dat in a cup of water. She got to drink dat. Too dark to go out an' fin' de leaf I tol' her to eat to prevent getting pregnant." Numb, Logan did what he was told to do.

Remy plastered the stuff all over Jubilee's body, covering the wounds. Jubilee's face, tight with pain even through her unconsciousness, eased a little as the anesthetic properties of some of the herbs numbed her skin. Finally Remy sat back. "Not'ing more we can do. If she live t'rough de night she goin' to be okay. All we can do is wait, and pray."

Logan sat down heavily at the table, in one of the two chairs, and sighed heavily. "What do I gotta do ta keep her safe?" he sighed. "An' why didn't she take the damn pass?"

Remy looked at Logan from where he was sitting on the floor beside her bed. "De only way you goin' to keep dis from happening is to free her, Logan," he said. "And de only way you goin' to free her is to send her up nort' wit' me so I can free her."

"But she doesn't want to go," Logan said, despairingly. "How can I make her go if she doesn't want to leave?"

"You a Master, Logan! Send her away! She a slave, no matter what you want to believe! She a slave an' dat mean you got a right to decide what she do an' where she go!"

"I can't do that ta her!" Logan said. "I can't break her heart like that!"

Remy exploded in anger, rising from his seat on the floor and grabbing Logan's shirt front. "You got to, _homme_! You prefer seein' her dere wit' her ribs an' body broke? You want to see her spirit break finally because she been used too often, whipped too often? _Mon Dieu_, Logan, do you know how much it hurt leavin' de las' time, knowin' dat she was bein' used every damn day by dem damn soldiers who couldn' keep dey hands off her? And de only t'ing I could do was tell her what to do so she wouldn' get pregnant an' break your damn heart!"

"What?" Logan looked stricken. "She was…they were…usin' her? She never told me…" He trailed off, slumped down in his chair, and buried his face in his hands.

Remy bit his lip, turning pale. "_Merde_." He sat down heavily in the chair next to Logan, and finally reached out and awkwardly touched the other man's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I t'ought she tell you by now, or you fin' out."

Logan spoke without lifting his head. "What happened?"

Remy closed his eyes. "De soldiers, from de fort. Dey catch her outside your property, dey ask for her pass. She show it to dem, because she have to obey any free person who order her to do anyt'ing. Dey order her to get on her knees so dey can use her mout', she got to obey. Dey tell her to lie on her back, she got to obey too. Dey make her get on her hands an' knees so dey can do to her what Remy's Master done to him, she got to obey dat too. Even t'ough it hurt like hell. She can' fight dem, or dey hurt her worse. An' if dey hurt her like dat, den you goin' to fin' out an' you goin' to go get dem for hurtin' her. And den you get in trouble." Remy's voice was bitter, and harsh. "She rat'er be raped every day, in every way possible, den get her precious Papa in trouble. What you done to deserve such loyalty, Logan?"

"Yer Master…" Logan swallowed. "He…"

Remy stood and pulled the top of his trousers down a little until Logan could see the small of his back. "See dat burn? Dat used to be a brand. Remy a branded body slave too. People like little boys same's little girls, Logan. Better when de little boy a slave who can't fight."

Logan choked. He couldn't imagine…"Does Jubilee know?"

Remy nodded, sitting back down. "She know. She guessed dat firs' night, when we had dat conversation, an' she hugged me. She sorry it happened."

Logan looked back at the girl on the bed. "Why didn't she ever tell me?" he whispered plaintively.

"Because she don' wan' to hurt your feelings," Remy said. "Because like she said, it tear your heart out if she tell you, an' she don' want to hurt you like dat. But Logan, is it wort' her staying here an' lettin' her be 'bused like dis when de only t'ing you can do is pick her up and care for her cuts? How much of dis you t'ink she goin' be able to take? T'ink de next time dis happen she goin' to survive? How bout de time after?"

"But she don't want ta leave," Logan whispered.

"Den you got to make her leave, Logan. You got to send her away. Sometime we have to hurt de ones we love for dey own good, Logan, an' if you really love her de way she t'ink you love her, you gonna do dis for her own good. It gonna hurt her now, but she 'ventually goin' to understan'."

"I don't know if I can live without her." Logan's voice was a whisper. Remy saw the anguished look in the other man's eyes, and his own heart contracted painfully. The other man was hurting, as much as Jubilee was hurting now, and telling the man to send away his daughter was like telling the man to cut his own heart out. Remy closed his eyes again; it was easier to talk to Logan without having to see his anguished reaction.

"You done fine before she come, Logan. You goin' to do fine again. Dey's talk back East 'bout a war, because de Nort' want to get rid of slavery. When dat happen, she goin' be free. She can come back an' be a free woman, an' live wit' you de res' of her life. Which goin' be longer dan it will otherwise. Take it from me, each time a slave gets a whippin' it take what feel like ten years off a life. Remy feel about two hundred by de time he freed. Remy know what she goin' to feel like when she wake up, and Remy…" Remy blinked furiously, staring at the ceiling as a single tear streaked down his cheek. "Remy love her too much to watch her go t'rough dis again. If she don' come wit' me dis time, you never goin' to see me again. I can't come back de next time and see more scars on her body, more scars on her soul, because she love you too much to tell you she want her freedom so bad she cry for it some nights, an' you too hungry for her company to tell her to go."

Logan looked at Remy, the muscles in his jaw bunching. "She wants freedom that bad?" he said. "Ya love her? Ya goin' ta take care o' her an' make sure she gets there safe? Ya gonna make sure she gets her freedom? Yer not gonna whip her, or force her ta sleep with ya?"

Remy's eyes glittered in anger. "Listen to me, you bull-headed cowboy. Remy know what it feel like to be raped. I know what it feel like to be ordered to do somet'ing you hate. I know what it feel like to be tied down an' punished for not obeying an order. You t'ink, with all I know, I'm goin' to put de woman I love t'rough dat? You don' know me, _monsieur_."

Logan got up and went to the small box under his bed, pulling it out. Inside, carefully folded, was the paper with his signature on it that meant he owned Jubilee. He put it on the table, grabbed a pen, flipped it over, and signed his name, quickly, angrily, to the bottom of the sheet. "Sign there, an' she's yers when ya go," he said, a lump forming in his throat. Remy signed it, and Logan watched as he folded it back up carefully and put it in his waistcoat pocket. Getting up abruptly, Logan grabbed the empty bucket and left the cabin, unable to sit there any longer. She was no longer his, she was someone else's, and all he could hope was that someday, somewhere, she'd find freedom and happiness.

Even if it wasn't with him.


	25. Recovering

Chapter 25:

Logan woke to the gentle touch on his shoulder. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he looked tiredly up at the Cajun. "How was she?"

Remy sighed. "She wake up twice, crying from pain. I change her dressings, let her drink, an' I give her de medicine an' some food too. She ate some, but fall asleep again before she finish. Remy put it back in the pot." He gave Logan's shoulder a shove. "Out of de bed. Remy tired. Want to sleep."

Logan rolled out of the bed and stood rubbing his eyes as Remy dropped down onto the bed and closed his eyes. It had been six days since they had brought Jubilee back from the clearing in the mountains, and they had been four tiring, gruesomely horrific days.

When she had awoken the only thing she could do was scream in agony. Even screaming hurt, due to the fractured rib. Remy had finally made her drink some of the medicine he carried with him to dull pain and help her sleep, and told Logan they would have to keep her asleep until the worst of the pain went away. And when they had been awakened by her agonized crying late at night, they'd decided one of them needed to be with her at all times. They had taken turns then, each taking six hours by her bed. Remy took the early morning and late evening watches so Logan could feed and tend to the animals, and cook breakfast and supper; Logan took the noon watch so Remy could make dinner and so he could go and find the herbs necessary to make more of the medicines that soothed her fever, eased her pain, and helped her sleep. A lot of the herbs around here were unfamiliar, and when Red Doe had come two days ago, she had shown Remy which herbs grew locally that would have the same effect as the ones Remy used.

Logan didn't have to ask the other man how he knew what to do. During the second day, when Remy was outside picking herbs, it had gotten hot, and he had taken his shirt off while he tied herbs into bunches and hung them on nails driven outside the cabin walls to dry. For the first time Logan had seen the scars that seamed the other man's body in full daylight, not softened in the forgiving flicker of firelight, and had flinched at the sight and turned away.

Jubilee was tossing restlessly now, sobbing a little in her sleep, and Logan hurried to her side, taking one hand in his and soothing her. "I'm here, darlin'. Papa's here." The sound of his voice seemed to calm her a little, and she soon drifted back into the deep, dreamless sleep she needed so desperately to heal. Logan waited until her breathing evened out, then went wearily to the pot over the fire and helped himself to a bowl of stew. He returned to her bedside with it and tried to eat while he watched her warily.

She had been outside too long, and caught wound fever. For the first few days her forehead ran hot, and she alternately sweated and shivered. Remy held her, rocked her, soothed her, sang songs to her in French, and while his voice might not win any prizes, it had seemed to comfort Jubilee, even though Logan was certain she didn't know what he was singing about. For all Logan himself knew, Remy could be singing a bawdy drinking song. But as long as it kept his little girl calmed and quiet, he didn't care.

Watching the other man with his little girl made Logan realize something. Remy did indeed love Jubilee as much as he himself did, just in a different way. Remy had no intention of being like a father to her; he looked at Jubilee with the same eyes Logan had seen on himself, long ago; eyes full of love and longing. It was that, more than anything else, which had kept Logan from asking Remy to give the owners' papers back. Remy loved her, and Logan knew he'd take care of her. Logan knew his little girl loved the Cajun back in return, even if she was currently too lost in fever dreams to notice the difference in the faces above her bed. He told himself that when she got to Canada and was free, she would marry Remy and have those babies she wanted. Logan felt his heart contract. What would she have? A little girl who looked like her, or maybe a little boy with the auburn hair of his father and his mother's blue eyes? Logan wished fervently he would someday be able to see the sight, although he knew it was highly unlikely that he would. Canada was a long way from the Missouri territory, a trip one would make only once in a lifetime. He would never see her again once Remy took her away; and the thought made tears fill his eyes. Resolutely, he turned his attention to getting her well.

Jubilee swam up through the layers of darkness that fogged her mind again, heeding her body's urgent need for water. This time, though, when she reached the light, she forced the pain back to a manageable level, gritted her teeth, and kept herself from screaming. It took a colossal effort, but she felt like she needed to. Papa. Papa was out there somewhere, probably worried about her, and terrified, and she had to try and tell him she was all right. And she desperately needed "…water…" She barely recognized the voice as her own; it was harsh and raspy. "Please…"

The low murmur of voices in the far corner of the room stopped, and she heard the splash of water and then footsteps heading toward her. "Hey," came an oddly familiar voice. "Drink dis. Gonna make dat t'roat feel better." Jubilee obediently swallowed from the cup of water placed to her lips as she tried to remember what the owner of that voice looked like. Her pain-fogged and drug-hazed mind finally identified the owner of that rich, molasses-smooth voice, and her eyes flew open. "Remy?"

"_Oui, p'tite_. Remy come back." She struggled against the hand holding her down and the peculiar stiffness against her right side that kept her spine from bending, and tried to sit up.

"Remy…Remy…what are you doing here…I thought I would never see you again…"

"_Non_," Remy pressed her back onto her bed. "Lie down. Stay quiet. Your ribs hurt bad, _chere_, you need to give dem time to heal." He held her down until, exhausted from the struggle, she lay back quietly.

"Hey," came another voice, and another face came into view. She reached up with both arms, ignoring how the lifting of her right arm pulled against the agony in her right side, and tried to hug Logan. "Papa, oh Papa, I love you, I'm so sorry…"

"I love ya too, kid," Logan put the bowl of stew on the small table he'd made out of leftover wood beside her bed and reached out to hug her too, ever so carefully. "I love ya too."

She clung to him for a long time, crying, and he held her. She smelled of medicine and sweat and blood, but she was alive, and that was all that really mattered to him. And she would be all right.

"Here," he said finally, gently disengaging himself from her and motioning to the bowl. "Think you feel well enough to eat some of this?" She nodded, and Remy and Logan together took an arm and pulled her up to a sitting position. She took the bowl from him and tried to eat, but she was so weak her hands were shaking. Logan finally took the bowl from her and fed her gently, spoonful by spoonful, until she finished the bowl. He dropped the dirty dishes into the bucket and returned to the bedside. "Jubilee," he said gently. 'Can ya tell us what happened?"

Jubilee's blue eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry, Papa," she whimpered. "I was working with Savage when there was a gunshot off in the hills, and he spooked. He ran across the corral and took the fence at a gallop. I didn't even stop to think, I just went after him. I didn't take the pass, I didn't even think about it. I tacked up Thunder and went after him. Walbrook…" She swallowed hard. "Walbrook caught me at the creek up in the hills. He ordered me off the horse so I could show him my pass. I didn't have it. He took the rope I was going to use to catch Savage and used it to tie me to the tree, and he whipped me. Forty-five times, Papa. Twenty-five times because I was on horseback without a pass, and twenty more times because I was away from your property. I passed out a couple of times, Papa, it hurt so much, but he would wake me up by beating me up. I was too weak and in too much pain to fight when he finally cut me down and threw me on the ground, and then there was this horrible pain when he pushed into me, and I passed out. I don't remember anything after that." She looked at him wide-eyed. "Papa, what happened?"

"You were missin' when Remy an' I come ridin' up that night," Logan said quietly. "We sat and waited for a while, but you never came. We was just sittin' there wonderin' if we should go look for you when yer wolf come runnin' up, actin' like he wanted us to follow him. So we jumped on the horses bareback and followed him. He led us straight to ya." Logan swallowed hard at the memory that had flashed, unbidden, into his mind; Jubilee lying on the ground, battered, bloody, beaten, flies settling on the dried blood on her body and settling in the pool of blood between her thighs. "Think Snow was actually the one who saved ya. We found Walbrook lyin' with his back against a tree with his throat tore out. We brought ya home, and I went back later an' done my best ta make it look like some wild animal got him. Nobody gonna know what really happened. Yer safe."

She looked up at him. "Papa, are you mad at me? I mean, I went and forgot the pass, and there was no dinner waiting for you, and…"

"No," Logan said. "I ain't mad at ya. Don't worry 'bout it." He hugged her as she clung to him and sobbed, and Logan knew she was going to be all right. And his heart felt like lead in his chest as he encouraged her to drink more drugged water and watched her fall back asleep, knowing that, in another week or two, she would be gone forever.

"You didn' tell her," Remy said later, when they were sitting out on the back step in the evening twilight.

"No," Logan said, his knife working furiously on the new block he was whittling. "No, I didn't tell her. She's still so fragile, I don't wanna shock her." He stared at the wood block in his hands. "I'm gonna wait ta tell her till yer ready ta leave. I'm gonna tell her that I ain't forgiven her fer lyin' ta me 'bout them soldiers, an' I'm gonna tell her I don't…" His breath caught in his chest with a sound very like a sob, and the knife dropped from his hand. "I'm gonna tell her I don't want no liars around, and that's why I'm sendin' her off with ya."

Remy sucked in a breath. "Why you do dat, Logan?" he said softly, horrified, thinking about Jubilee's reaction to that revelation. "You gonna break her heart, you do dat."

"Because I have to!" Logan cried angrily as he stabbed the knife deeply into the block of wood. "Because once she's got free papers she's gonna want ta come back. And she can't. The first person who remembers her is gonna ask ta see that brand, an' when they see it they gonna clap her in shackles again and sell her. An' she might never get free again. I can't let that happen. I want her ta think there ain't nothin' here anymore fer her, that she ain't wanted here, an' then maybe she'll stay up there in Canada. I don't wanna see her again if it means she loses her freedom." He whittled furiously for a moment, cutting away the mark he'd made in the side of the block, and then stabbed the air in Remy's direction. "She loves ya, y'know. Treat her right."

Remy looked stunned. "She loves me?" he asked. Logan put the knife down, feeling tears sting his eyes. Damn. He was turning into the biggest crybaby.

"Yeah, she loves ya," he growled. "Them four years ya been gone, ain't nobody else's name crossed her lips," he said. "I paraded a buncha them Indian braves through here fer her, an' plenty o' them woulda gotten hitched ta her in a minute, but she never looked at any of em. Couple o' Masters done made an offer fer her, ta 'breed' her with their African 'studs', but when I asked her, she said while she liked kids, wanted some herself, she wasn't wantin' kids from no African. Said she wanted her kids to be free. Wasn't till her seventeenth birthday that I heard her say yer name, and she told me she 'liked ya' a bit, an' she missed ya. But ya know that voice an' them eyes as women get when they like ya, really like ya? I seen my Annie look at me like that, an' that's the way she looked when she said yer name. She loves ya."

"I love her too," Remy said, and Logan nodded.

"Then yer gonna marry her and give her the kids she wants, an' keep her up there where she's safe?" Logan pursued aggressively.

Remy said gently, "Logan, we got ways o' obliterating dem brands. You see mine? Wasn't no S on my back, was dere?"

Logan's hopes lifted. "How?"

Remy gulped. "Dey take a flat piece o' metal an' heat it up real hot, den they puts dat metal against de skin. Den ya pull dat metal up, real quick, an' it take de layer of skin away wit' it. It take two tries to get Remy brand off, cause my Master branded me deep, but it come off."

Logan sucked in a breath. "That hurts," he whispered.

Remy nodded. "Hurt like two devil," he said emphatically. "But we do it in de winter, when dey a lot of snow an' ice on de groun', an' all dat ice help take de pain away till de burn heals. An' every slave who done it, 'cluding me, say it wort' it to get dat off our bodies. She goin' to say dat too."

"No!" Logan sprang up, horrified. "No! It's goin' to hurt her, terribly, an' I don't wanna think o' my girl screamin' while ya rip a layer o' skin off her hip! Promise me ya ain't gonna do that ta her!"

"I ain't gonna do it," Remy said quickly. "De doctor come an' do dat, an' dey gives de slave medicines to dull de pain till it done. Den ice do de same t'ing till it heals."

"No! I don't want her ta go through anything like that!" Logan snapped. "Promise!"

"I promise," Remy said quickly. "Remy not goin' to do dat to de _p'tite_." As Logan turned and stomped away, out toward the barn, Remy looked after him thoughtfully. "What if she want it, _homme_?" he said to the quiet night. "Remy not gonna deny her anyt'ing she want."


	26. Heartbreak

Chapter 26

Logan stood looking out the back door.

Jubilee had gotten up a few days ago, and the splints had come off her ribs. Remy had known what he was doing; there wasn't a sign of a break, and the grotesque swelling in her side had been reduced to a small, barely noticeable bump. Remy assured him that that would eventually go away too. She was coughing a lot, and what she coughed up was the color of dried blood, but Remy had looked at it and said it was her lungs getting rid of the blood trapped in them after the rib had healed. He went on, in detail, about how small pieces of bone could get into the lung from a fracture and cause blood to collect in the lungs. Logan listened with half an ear; he didn't care what happened, he just wanted to stop seeing Jubilee's body bent double in racking coughs, and see her coming back up with blood on her lips and hands. But Remy had been right about that, too, and the coughs, as well as the blood, were tapering off.

He watched as she took slow, careful steps across the yard, carrying the water bucket. While she'd been lying on that bed suffering from fever dreams, she hadn't eaten much, and had gotten noticeably thinner. He winced at the sight of her thin arms and legs; she was going to need to eat a lot to gain back the weight she'd lost. The loss of weight had meant loss of strength, too, and she had to stop and rest on the way from the well to the pastures and the cow pens. She took it slow, careful not to jar her still-sore side or open her scabbed cuts. Remy spoke something to her cheerfully, encouragingly, and she put the bucket down and laughed. He went over to her, slipping an arm around her waist, and she glanced furtively toward the cabin door. Logan hurriedly ducked back into the shadows by the cabin door, and watched as she turned her face upward to kiss Remy. It was a long, slow, passionate kiss, and it drove home to Logan just how much his little girl had grown up. The kiss went on, and on, and then Logan saw Remy begin to caress her chest through her clothes, and he decided he'd better step in before they ripped each others' clothes off. He stepped out of the door and made a show of banging around the empty bucket as he went out. Remy and Jubilee jerked apart, looking a little guilty, and Jubilee picked up the bucket of water and headed for the cow pen.

Logan hid his smile behind his hand and headed for Storm's pasture, whistling. The big stallion came flying up to the fence when he whistled, and Logan patted the soft muzzle. He was feeding carrots from Jubilee's garden to the horse when Remy came up. "He a beautiful horse," he said.

"Yeah, isn't he?' Logan looked at Remy curiously. "How 'bout your horse? He's a pretty good piece, too. You got a farm where you are?"

"_Non_," Remy threw back his head and laughed. "_Non_, I live with Monsieur Charles, and he got a mansion just outside of town." He pronounced 'Charles' the way the French did, 'sharl'. "He do have a breedin' farm maybe 'bout an hour's ride away."

"Do me a favor, please? Take her there sometime." Logan's voice was soft. "She loves animals, loves the horses. When she first came here she was terrified of them; some idiot had chained her in a stable with an outlaw, an' the horse kicked her in the head. She got a nasty scar under all that hair." Remy looked shocked at the revelation, and cursed under his breath. "I got her started on an ol' pony named Pretty Girl, sweetest li'l thing ya ever saw. She wasn't any good fer breedin', o' course she was too small; I jus' kept her 'roun' fer company. A mad wolf killed her right before Snow came."

Remy nodded. "Yes, I'll do dat."

Logan grinned, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "Ya got any woods aroun' where ya live?"

Remy smiled, puzzled. "_Oui_, why?"

Logan grinned wolfishly, hiding his pain at the thought of her leaving under a veneer of humor. "She used ta bring home all kinds o' insects and animals an' stuff when she first came," he said. "I didn't have a problem…well, not too much, anyway…with the baby birds and bunnies and squirrels and butterflies, but then she come back once with somethin' she wanted ta show me, an' she had a poisonous spider in her hands. She just lucky the damn thing didn't bite her 'fore she got home." Logan shook his head at the memory. "I tol' her never ta do dat again."

Remy grinned delightedly. "Did she?"

Logan snorted. "She took me literally. She didn' bring no spiders home no more, but she did still bring animals. I 'member her bringin' a turtle home, an' she put it on the ground. Snow sat there rollin' the thing aroun' in its shell while she laughed her fool head off."

"Papa!" came an aggrieved wail, and Logan turned. Jubilee was standing there, wriggling in embarrassment as Remy laughed at her pink face. "Do you have to tell Remy all the stuff I did when I was real little?"

Logan turned to her, hands on his hips. "Since when was fourteen 'real little'? It was only four years ago."

She squirmed again. "But do you have to tell Remy? It's so embarrassing."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "What about the time you sent Snow after that inflated pig's bladder ball around the corner of the barn when you knew what I was doin'? You think that wasn't embarassin', seein' a wolf eye up my privates?" Remy laughed so hard he had to sit down by the fencepost. "Thought that damn wolf was goin' to see if I'd taste good." Normally Logan wouldn't talk about things like this, but hell, Remy was a man, and he figured if Jubilee thought she was old enough to decide she wanted to sleep with a man _on her own consent_, she should get used to hearing sexual talk.

Remy wiped his eyes. "What else she bring back?"

Logan thought. "A snake, once. Fortunately one o' the harmless striped ones, not somethin' that'd poison her if it bit her. She brought a hawk home with her once, too. Had a broke wing. Damn, that thing had some nasty eatin' habits." Logan could still remember small gobbets of raw meat flying around the cabin. "We finally gave the hawk to Red Doe to take care of until the wing healed."

"Hey!" came an authoritative voice from the front gate. "Anybody home?"

Jubilee went to the gate and opened it. "Master Logan is right this way, sir," she said to the man standing in the lead of the four soldiers. "Please follow me." She waited for the soldier to dismount, then led him quietly to the corral where Remy and Logan were waiting.

Logan looked up as the soldier tipped his hat to them. "Howdy. Whatcha doin' here?" his voice was a bit harsh, but Logan couldn't help it. This soldier could be one of the ones that raped his little girl.

"We wished to ask you some questions, Sir," the soldier said courteously. "A certain wealthy man of the town, Mr. Walbrook, has been missing for the last couple of weeks. His friends thought he might have come out here to discuss with you a certain piece of unfinished business concerning your slave. He was never seen again. Did you see this man?"

"Nope," Logan growled, "Ain't seen hide nor hair of him in the last few weeks." Which was true. It had been three and a half weeks ago when he had last seen Walbrook's body in the clearing up in the hills.

The soldier turned to look at Jubilee. "What about you, girl! You seen the former railroad construction master in the last week or so?"

"No sir," Jubilee said, standing silently, eyes lowered respectfully to the ground. "I haven't seen him."

The soldier grabbed her arm tightly in a grip so hard she winced. "You're telling me the truth, right girl?' he snapped. "He didn't catch you outside your master's property, did he? Did he order you to strip and give him what we told him you been giving us?"

Logan's face drained in shock that the soldier would so blatantly all attention to his use of the girl. Jubilee saw his face, and misunderstood. "No, no, sir, I don't…I don't know what you mean, sir, I haven't been giving you anything…" It was a desperate attempt to hide what had happened.

The soldier was oblivious to her distress. "Don't lie, girl…" He broke off as he saw her frightened glance at Logan. 'Oh, you haven't told your Master what happened, eh?" he turned to Logan. "Your little whore teased us with her body while she was out riding. We're only men, we couldn't resist. Did she tell you?"

Logan's heart contracted when he saw Jubilee's face. He wanted to belt this man across the jaw for calling Jubilee a whore; she'd never teased anyone sexually, he knew that for certain. But this was also the opening he required to wean her of her affection for him, make her want to go and never return. "You did what?" he snapped, walking over to her.

Jubilee's eyes grew wide and frightened. "M-m-master Logan, I…please, I never teased them…t-t-they u-u-used m-m-me…" she covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

Logan wanted to cry too. She looked so terrified. But he schooled his face, locked the anger on his features like a mask, and steeled himself. What he was about to tell her would rip her heart out, and his, but it was for her own good. He didn't like the way this soldier was looking at her, and he didn't want to think about what might happen if she came back and he saw her with free papers. He'd probably destroy them and enslave her again, this time at the fort under his men. She would survive maybe a week, not much longer, being raped all night and forced to work all day. And some of the soldiers liked whipping their slaves. Logan had seen one whipped bloody simply for spilling a soldier's canteen of water.

"Don't tell me that," he said. "I just saw ya kissing my guest back there. Ya are a little whore, ain't ya? Hot fer a man between yer legs. An' here I thought ya was a decent girl." He frowned at her, and she cowered away from him. "And then ya didn't tell me. What, did ya think I wouldn't find out? Ya think I wouldn't punish ya?"

"Slut like that needs a good whippin'," the soldier snickered. "Here. Use mine." He held out his whip to Logan.

Logan looked at Jubilee, cowering in the dust, crying in terror. "Nah," he said in disgust. "She ain't worth it. Get in the barn, you'll stay there the rest of the day, no meals."

The soldier grabbed the loose neckline of her dress. "If you won't whip her I will…" and he froze when he saw the still-healing whip welts on her bare shoulder. "So, slave, your master's gone and whipped you for something else, has he?" he snickered. "Didn't think he had it in him. Mighty vicious welts there, Mister Logan. What'd she do?"

Logan groped for the first thing he could think of. "Used her teeth when we was in bed."

The man sucked in a breath. "Yep, that'll hurt. Looks like ya paid her back, eh?" and he hooked his whip back on his belt, to Logan's immense relief. "Well, I guess we'll be on our way, looking for the wayward Railroad master. Fine day to you." He jammed his hat back on his head and went to the gate, closing it behind him. Neither Remy nor Logan moved till they were gone.

Jubilee sat up, wiping her tears. "Papa, please. I swear I didn't tease them, I swear! They told me to get down off the horse, and they used me, and I couldn't disobey…"

"If ya really were blameless, then why the hell didn't ya tell me?" Logan snapped. "The only reason ya didn' tell me was 'cause ya liked it, didn't ya, ya liked havin' all them men between yer legs. How could ya do this ta me?" he screamed at her, allowing tears to spring to his eyes. Jubilee stared at him in shock. "I thought ya loved me. Well, if ya loved me, an' ya truly thought ya was my girl, ya wouldn't a' behaved like ya did. I tell ya what, I don't want no whore aroun' here. I can't keep ya if I can't trust ya. Maybe I'll take ya inta town an' sell ya ta Miss Gina. Ya like that? Huh?"

Jubilee was crying now, harder than he'd ever seen her cry. He swallowed hard, forcing the lump in his throat back as his own eyes burned with unshed tears. _What the hell are ya doin'? _his mind screamed at him_. Yer tearin' the poor girl's heart out, and yer own, come on, tell her yer sorry…_but he couldn't, he had to make her not want to come back, and if she thought he hated her she'd stay where she was safe… "I loved ya," he said, his voice breaking. "I trusted ya. And ya go an' break my trust." He snapped out, "Ah, hell. I don't wanna see ya ever again. Remy!" he called. "Ya wanna do me a favor? take this little...whore…" Oh, God, but it hurt to say that, hurt so much, "…an' sell her at the damn slave market, or whatever ya wanna do. I don't want her here no more. Take her with ya when ya leave!"

Jubilee shrieked and flung herself on the ground at his feet, grabbing his hand imploringly. "Papa, please, please, I didn't mean it, please, Papa, I love you, it wasn't like that at all! PAPA, PLEASE!" she screamed as he, unable to listen to her pleas any longer, started toward the cabin wordlessly. She ran after him, grabbing his hand and crouching at his feet. "Papa, please, I love you, please don't send me away, Papa, please, whip me, do anything to me, but please don't send me away! Papa, you promised you wouldn't sell me, please, Papa! Papa!" She ripped at her dress, exposing the still-healing red welts all over her body, and flung herself at his feet, naked. "Papa, please, whip me, cut off a limb, punish me like what the law says, but please, **Papa, I love you, I can't live without you, please don't send me away**! **PAPA**!" and the sound of her despairing scream cut off as he closed the cabin door behind him. He leaned against the door for long moments, shoulders shaking with his own grief and a fist pressed tightly to his lips to stifle his sobs, until he heard Remy speak a soothing word to her, pick her up from the ground, and lead her off into the barn. When he heard the barn door close, he flung himself down on his bed and cried as his heart broke. He'd never, ever be able to erase the memory of her anguished cry.

He just hoped someday she would forgive him.


	27. Leaving

Chapter 27:

Remy came back in the cabin, went to the wall and grabbed another dress, then went back out. Logan ignored him, ignored everything but his own anguish at having to hurt his little girl the way he had.

It was a long time before Remy came back in. By then it was dark and the fire in the cabin had gone out. Remy stoked the fire up to a glow, then sat down in one of the chairs. "Don' you t'ink dat was too harsh, Logan? She out dere cryin' her eyes out."

"I had ta do it, Remy." A slow tear slid down Logan's cheek. "I had ta. Did ya see the way that soldier looked at her? If she ever tries ta come back she'll be captured by them soldiers. If not by them, they'll be the ones who buy her at the auction block. She'll spend her nights pinned under one sweatin', fat, gruntin' man after another, bein' raped in body and soul 'til there's nothing left o' her but a walkin' shell. They'll kill her spirit if they get her. I can't bear that, Remy. I couldn't bear walkin' inta town an' seein' her outside the fort, workin' for them, with the light gone outta her eyes an' despair written all over her face. How long ya think she goin' to live like that? A week, maybe two? An' they won't even give her a decent burial, they're gonna dump her body in the refuse pit outside o' town, so the wild animals can eat her. I'll die if I see that, Remy. I'll go in there and kill them for killin' my little girl, an' they'll kill me." He turned to face the wall. "Go, Remy. Leave tomorrow mornin'. If I see her again I don't think I'm gonna be able ta keep myself from huggin' her tight an' never lettin' her go. Get her outta here before my heart overrides my head an' I take that sale paper back." He pulled the thin blanket over his head and hid his face in the pillow so the other man wouldn't see his pain.

Remy got up and started moving around the cabin, collecting things. Another dress, her shoes, a lot of the cloths women used for their monthlies, and then he paused. He tapped Logan's shoulder gently. "Dere anyt'ing else she should take? Some small souvenir, gift, or somet'ing she love dat maybe make her feel better?"

Logan stared into the darkness. He had bought her a little rag doll to sleep with out in the barn for comfort; she had put it aside with the rest of her little girl things. He had taken it and put it carefully away with the photo of Annie, but maybe she would like that…no. "That other chest against the wall, next to the fireplace. There's a necklace in there, a carved wood wolf head on a string of blue glass beads. I made it for her last year. It's the one thing she loves more'n anythin' else here." _Except me,_ his mind added, but he didn't say it. He heard Remy cross the cabin, and open the chest. He grimly shut his eyes. He wouldn't look. Wouldn't. If he did he'd start crying again. And he'd done enough crying today.

Remy opened the chest. On top of a number of other things that belonged to Jubilee (outgrown clothes, old moccasins, strings of beads and feathers and polished stones from the Indians who had courted her) there was a paper wrapped package. He opened it; in it was the necklace. The blue glass beads were the same color as her eyes, and the wolf's head pendant was exquisitely carved, each detail exact. Somewhere Logan had even found two chips of turquoise to set into the wood for a pair of blue wolf eyes.

Remy carefully added it to the scanty bundle of her things, closed the chest, and looked around the cabin for anything he might have missed. He went to her disarranged bed, tucked against the wall, and twitched the covers in place, wondering if maybe she had a doll or something she slept with, and as he was reaching under the pillow his fingers touched something crinkly. He pulled it out. It was another package.

Remy knew he should stop there, but curiosity drove him to open the package. In it was a meticulously carved figure of a rearing horse, mane and tail flowing. The workmanship was astounding. Remy was about to replace it when he saw the writing on the paper it was wrapped in. "To my darling Jubilee, from your Papa. Happy surprise birthday. I love you. Logan."

It was supposed to be a surprise. Jubilee hadn't seen it yet. Remy vaguely remembered Logan slipping the package under her pillow after she'd gone out to give the animals their morning feed. He wrapped it up with a twinge. Logan had, over the last couple of weeks while Jubilee was recovering, told him he was carving the horse for Jubilee's upcoming eighteenth birthday. That was tomorrow. And she'd never see it. She would be leaving tomorrow.

Remy hesitated, torn between slipping it back under Jubilee's pillow or leaving it with the man who loved her so much he'd tear his heart out to see her free and happy. He shook his head, and slipped it in his own coat pocket. When Jubilee stopped crying and being angry with him, he'd give her this last gift from Logan and explain to her why Logan had done what he did.

Remy knew that was a long way off. He wasn't a fool, and he wasn't completely selfless, either. He loved Jubilee. Wanted to make her a free woman, marry her, and have a couple of kids with her. He wanted that badly enough to go along with Logan's charade now. Once in Canada, living in Charles's mansion with all its luxury comforts, this rustic life would seem far away. As she got used to it, she wouldn't want to go back. And eventually she would understand that Logan had done what he did because he loved her. Then Remy would give her the little horse and explain what Logan had done. She would be grateful to him, and to Remy.

He tied the ends of the blanket around the little bundle and slipped it into his own traveling bag, knowing it would look odd in town if she were seen carrying her own bundle. She wasn't supposed to have anything of her own.

Then he settled down to wait for morning.

Logan was up first. He puttered aimlessly around the cabin, doing all the things he had gotten used to seeing Jubilee doing. She was probably still in the barn. Well, it was for the best; he wasn't sure he could bear seeing her tear-streaked face and sorrowful eyes around the cabin.

He went and cut a hunk of cold beef from the side hanging in the cellar, then dropped it into a pan and fried it. He wrapped the last of the bread Jubilee had made the day before, and put that in a small food pack. "For the trip," he said gruffly. "It's a long way ta Canada."

"I was actually goin' to take de train back east, den take anot'er train as close to de border as possible. Den I'm goin' to buy her a horse an' we'll make de res' of de way on foot."

"How long ya gonna be on the road?" Logan frowned.

Remy shrugged. "Don' know. Train alone's goin' be 'bout two weeks; the trip on horse goin' to be anot'er two."

Logan growled, "You take it easy, don't push her, make sure she stops fer water, and ta eat. She never eats enough. Take it easy, too, she still recoverin' from the whippin' she got a few weeks back. An' take care o' her! Don't let nobody hurt her!"

"I won', Logan, I love her too," Remy said softly. Then, even more softly. "T'ank you."

"I ain't doin' it fer ya, I'm doin' it fer her," Logan growled, dropping the food pack next to the bundle with her things in it. "What about…" his voice sounded raspy, and he cleared his throat. "What 'bout takin' her horse, Thunder? Or her wolf, Snow? She loves 'em."

Remy shook his head slowly, regretfully. "I can' take dem. I'm sorry, Logan. Even if dey could get used to travelin' on de train, dey'd be hopelessly out o' place in Charles's mansion."

Logan looked anguished. "Thunder won't let nobody else ride him. Her damn wolf, there's times when I think he's gonna try and eat me. He don't like nobody but her."

"Keep de wolf in de barn when we leave, _mon ami_," Remy said, picking up the two packs. "Can't have him following us." He took one last look around the cabin that Jubilee called home, and then went outside. Logan heard the barn doors creak open, and opened the door one last time, just to see her.

She was a mess; hair tousled, eyes red-rimmed with crying, and when she saw him she broke away from Remy and ran to him, throwing her arms around him before he could push her away. "Papa, please,"; she sobbed out brokenly. "Please, Papa, it didn't happen like that, please, take me back, I love you, Papa, I can't live without you…"

Logan grabbed her arms and gave her a shove back in Remy's direction. "You belong to him now," he said, his voice harsh. "Get out of here." She looked as if she was going to throw herself at him, and he stepped back quickly and closed the door. She hurled herself at it, screaming his name in a tone of frantic anguish and despair he'd never heard from her before, and rattled the doorknob just as he locked it.

Finding it locked, she pounded her fists against it. "Papa, please!" She shrieked. "Papa!" There was a soft sliding sound, and a gentle thump. "Papa, please, I love you, please don't do this!" She was sitting in front of the door, sobbing, and his heart felt like it was breaking too. He stood there, fists clenched, fighting his urge to run to the door and pull her into his arms. She had to get away. Living here with him would kill her.

Jubilee leaned her head against Remy as he came to pick her up. "Why is he so mad at me?" she whimpered. "Remy, please, you talked to him last night, why is he so mad?"

Remy whispered soothing words to her in French, ignoring her question. Finally he pulled her to her feet. "Come on. We have to go. Up on my horse, now."

"I can ride Thunder," she said, sniffling.

Remy shook his head. "_Cherie_, where we goin', you can' take him," he said. "I want to take you up nort' an' free you so nobody can make you leave your home again, an' it goin' to be faster if we go by train. Rogue, he used to train traveling, but your horse never seen one before, an' I don' t'ink it goin' to be such a good idea." He took a deep breath. This was the hardest part. "Snow can't come eit'er."

"I…I can't take…" She squared her shoulders, trying not to cry again, and went to the fence, whistling for Thunder. Her throat was choked with her sobs, and she couldn't get a sound out. Thunder came running anyway, sliding to a stop in front of the gate as he waited for her to go and get his tack. "No," she whimpered a little, as she patted the large velvety nose. The horse sniffed at the salty tear tracks on her face, wondering why she was crying. "I have to go, Thunder. I'm sorry. Logan will take good care of you." Her voice broke as she spoke Logan's name, and more tears flooded her cheeks.

She turned away from the fence and found Snow right behind her. She went to one knee. "Please, Snow," she whispered. "Please, I can't take you with me. I raised you from a pup, Snow, and you've been a good friend and the only one who loves me, except Thunder and…and…Logan…" She faltered. "You have to stay here. Love Papa, Snow, like you love me. Maybe someday he'll realize that it wasn't my fault, and maybe he'll realize how…much…I love…him…" Crying gentle, hot tears of sorrow because she knew she'd never see him again, she led him into the barn and tied him to the ring in the wall. Her hands brushed the ring, gently, and the second piece of rope that hung from it from the time she'd tied herself to that wall to keep Papa from getting into trouble for not following the slave laws. She left the barn, and Snow, sensing that something was wrong, started to howl mournfully. She faltered for a moment, then walked resolutely to the gate, opened it, and let Remy step through, then she closed it carefully, as she'd been told to do by the man still inside the cabin. "I love you, Papa," she said through her tears, then turned and started walking after Remy, who was riding Rogue.

Logan waited for an hour, then opened the door. The yard was empty; she was gone. Snow was howling mournfully in the shed, and Logan heard the ring clashing against the wall as the wolf yanked on the rope. It was nailed fast to the wall, though; it wouldn't come off. Thunder was pacing restlessly around his pasture, looking down the road Remy and Jubilee had gone down, as if waiting for her to come back. Logan looked sadly at the horse. "She won't be coming back," he said gently as he walked over to the pasture fence. "I'm sorry, Thunder. She won't be coming back." He didn't know what else to say as the horse turned his head and looked accusingly at Logan. He retraced his steps to the cabin, closed the door, and sat heavily on his bed. He reached into the box under his bed, took out the little rag doll Jubilee used to sleep with, and lay down on her bed, holding the doll and smelling her hair on the straw pillow.

"Please God, keep my little girl safe, and let her be happy," he prayed fervently, before tears overtook him and he cried himself into an exhausted sleep after the restless night and bad dreams of the night before.


	28. The Outlaw

Chapter 28:

The inhabitants of Jackson were used to seeing Jubilee with Logan, so used to the sight that they hardly paid attention to her anymore. However, the sight of the well-dressed stranger riding a horse, and the silent, tearful young woman walking beside his stirrups, caused a stir.

The commander of the fort detached himself from the knot of interestedly staring officers and approached Remy. "Howdy, Mister," he said. "This your slave?"

"Yes," Remy said briefly, slowing his horse but not stopping it. Not for the commander's sake, but for Jubilee, who was showing signs of exhaustion from the long walk. They'd taken turns riding Rogue, but in town it would have looked odd if Remy walked leading the horse, so she walked and Remy rode. Remy wished they'd been able to take a horse, but Logan didn't know anyone in town well enough to have the horse left with them until Logan came to collect it.

"May I ask how you came to own her?"

"I bought her," Remy said shortly. The soldier leered at her, and Remy suppressed the urge to kick the man away.

"Hey, boys, he bought her!" the man said jubilantly to the other officers watching, and the men crowded forward, interest in their faces and smiles on their lips. Jubilee pressed herself against Remy's stirrups, trying to avoid the hands that reached out to touch her. Remy said sharply, "Off, she's mine!"

The soldiers drew back. The commander said, "That stingy old man back at the ranch wouldn't share her around, or hire her out to Miss Gina, so we had to sneak a taste of her every now and then in secret. You gonna be tightfisted like that?"

"She's mine," Remy insisted, eyes narrowing. "I bought her, and I'm de only one goin' to touch her."

The commander's eyes narrowed. "Mister, I could order you to let us have her, and you have to," he said. "I could have ordered that old man to do it, but he was never here when I was here, and none of my men have that kind of authority. You want to give her to us for a night, or do you want me to order you to let us have her?"

Remy swung off the horse in front of the train station, and faced the man squarely. "Look, _Monsieur_, you can't order me to do not'ing. I'm French, from Canada. Not a citizen of de United States. An' since I bought her, fair and square, she mine too, dat make her property of Canada after she property of me."

The man cleared his throat. "May I see your papers?' he asked Remy petulantly.

Remy smiled nastily as he handed the man his travel permit and the paper Logan had signed giving him Jubilee. Remy had entered the price of three hundred dollars later as a precaution, in case anyone wanted written proof of money changing hands. The commander looked closely at the papers, as if hoping to find something wrong with them so he could take Jubilee from Remy; but Remy had crossed all the t's and dotted all the i's, and there were no flaws to be found. Finally the man handed the paper back to Remy with a dissatisfied grunt. Remy smiled and handed the reins to Jubilee. "Hold de horse while I go make arrangements for transportin' Rogue," he said, and Jubilee obediently grasped the reins and held the horse as Remy disappeared inside. The commander and the other officers retreated to a safe distance to grumble. There was nothing they could do.

Remy came out as the train pulled up. "Take de horse to de second to last car. Dat's where dey transport de livestock. Tie him in de stall, de one wit' de number 6, crosswise, an' make sure dere's water in de bucket an' hay on de floor." As he said that, he stepped in and pretended to fiddle with the girth strap. "Dey transport slaves on de last car, an' it pretty full already. You know de laws; you have to ride in dere, an' de conductor tells me it mostly men." Jubilee drew in a sharp breath.

"If I have to, I'll have to," she whispered grimly. "I survived it once, I'll survive it again. I don't care. I've nothing to live for, anyway." Her voice was soft, bitter. "Papa thinks I'm a whore, might as well start being one."

"_Non_!" Remy grabbed her arm swiftly. "You tell dem you belong to a Canadian, an' we do t'ings different. Tell dem your Master don' like ot'er slaves touchin' his property. Got dat?"

The trainmaster came up. "Hey, Mister, that horse looks awful antsy," he said, eyeing Rogue, who was shifting restlessly in place. "You sure he goin' to be okay?"

"He be fine, _monsieur,_" Remy said with a grin. "He always get antsy."

"Well…" The trainmaster scratched his head. "The gentleman whose horse is in the next stall saw your horse and he's a little worried. If your slave can handle horses he asked if she can stay with your horse, to make sure nothing happens to his. He asks that if something happens to his horse because of something yours does, your slave is forfeit."

Remy drew in a breath to say something, but Jubilee moved her foot and applied pressure to his toe. She gave her head a tiny nod, and returned her gaze to the ground. Remy stared at her, at Rogue, then sighed gustily and said to the conductor, "It a deal. My slave goin' ride wit' de horse."

"Good. Let me get a set of chains for her. We won't chain her like we usually do the darkies; she has to be free to move to a certain extent if things get rough in there." The conductor bustled off, looking relieved.

As soon as Remy saw the other horse in the stall next to the one for Rogue, he understood the other passengers apprehension. The horse's stall was actually two stalls, with the separating wall knocked out. It was dark, but Remy could hear the pounding of hooves against the thin wooden walls. Then the horse stuck its head out and saw Rogue, and screamed a challenge. Remy stumbled back a step. The horse was one of the heavy draft type, glossy black with a rolling, savage white eye. It was an ungelded outlaw stallion, straight through. What the hell was its owner thinking, traveling with such a dangerous animal?

The conductor came into the livestock car, holding an iron shackle on the end of a long chain. He stayed near the door, careful not to go anywhere near the plunging, snorting, angry outlaw. Remy stared at the chain, and at Jubilee. Logan had said she had a scar from being chained in a stall beside an outlaw horse; well, here she was, volunteering to do the same thing. She was quietly urging Rogue to enter the designated stall, with soft words and a lot of patting. After a long last look at the horse next door, Rogue entered the stall reluctantly.

Remy stood watching as Jubilee measured out oats and water for Rogue. "What dat outlaw horse doin' on de train?" he said angrily. "He dangerous!" the other horses in the car were snorting uneasily. The outlaw's stall was in the far corner, and Rogue was the only horse close to him, but every horse felt the dangerous undercurrents from having two stallions in such close quarters.

The conductor shrugged. "The gentleman says his name is Outlaw," he said apologetically. "He's shipping the horse back East to display to the city folk how wild the horses out here are. He's paying a lot of money, or I wouldn't let him transport the damn horse in my train." He handed Remy the chain and pointed to a small ring set close to the floor of Rogue's stall. "Fasten her chain off to that ring there. That'll give her plenty of room to move if something happens." Remy did so, grumbling, then stepped back.

"I'll be fine, Master Remy," Jubilee said, feigning a confidence she didn't really feel. That horse in the next stall scared her. She stepped into Rogue's stall, picked up a handful of straw, and started to curry the sweat off the horse's coat while whispering soothingly. Remy descended from the car, and watched as the conductor closed and locked the livestock car door. He looked down the train to the last car, wondering if putting her in with the other slaves might not be a better idea, but the deal was done.

He was sitting worriedly in his seat, staring out the window and not really seeing it, worrying about the young girl locked in that car with seven horses and wondering if she was going to be able to handle all of that, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. "Hey. You the guy with the other stallion?"

He looked up at a fat, florid-faced man wearing a waistcoat and puffed up with importance. "Yes. My girl's in with my horse, she make sure not'ing happens." He wasn't as confident as he sounded.

"Oh, good, good," the man said, obviously relieved. "Just want to make sure nothing happens to my horse, he doesn't break a leg or something. The circus will pay less money for him if he's damaged."

Remy said grimly, "What if somet'ing happen to my horse, or my slave? If dat devil horse of yours do somet'ing to dem, you goin' to forfeit dat horse for my horse?"

"Oh, if something happens to your horse because of something my horse does, I'll compensate for whatever damage is done,, if that;'s what you wish," the man said. 'But isn't that what your slave is for? Handle the horses? If she lets anything happen to them she ought to be whipped for her carelessness."

Remy ground out tightly, "She very good wit' horses, monsieur, but she still an eighteen year old girl. Dere only so many t'ings she can do if t'ings get out of hand."

The man shrugged. "Oh well, better her than my horse." And he moved off. Remy was glad. If he had to put up with that fool for one more minute, the horse would be the last of the man's worries.

As soon as the train got to Independence, He ran back to the livestock car. Jubilee's head poked out of the window of Rogue' stall, pale but composed, in answer to Remy's call. He gave her a hunk of bread and cold beef he'd bought from a store in town, and when she assured him that she and Rogue were all right, he went back to his seat.

It seemed a long week, traveling east with that devil horse, but Jubilee seemed to be doing all right, and she even asked Remy if he might be able to get her some carrots for Outlaw. Remy was astonished, but got her the carrots anyway.

The train's last stop was in Baltimore; that was where Remy had planned on catching another northbound train to New York, and then get a horse for Jubilee there and get up to the Canada border in another week. He alighted just behind the fat man who owned the Outlaw, and watched as the man went back to the livestock car.

The conductor was telling him that the other horses should be unloaded first, but the man was arguing. Finally the conductor shrugged, threw up his hands, and surrendered. The man gestured to two brawny Africans from the slave car to take the horse out, directing them with many flourishes and shakes of the heavy black horsewhip he held. Remy watched the two Africans go in, and snarled to himself. If the man had two such large slaves, surely it made sense to put them in the rail car with the Outlaw than one slim, frightened girl?

The two men came out after much shouting, swearing, and pounding of hooves, leading a huge black draft horse who was completely angry at being dragged around. He stopped short on the unloading ramp, staring at the horses and carts that clogged the city streets in front of the train station, the people bustling about, and started trembling. The two Africans dragged him by main force down the ramp, and then the conductor gestured to Remy to call Jubilee out. She appeared on the loading ramp a moment later, looking calm, and gently urged Rogue down. Rogue was only too happy to get off the train; Remy knew his horse hated the noise and fuss of railroad travel.

He danced a little as his feet touched the platform; She, sensing that he was just trying to stretch out and get the kinks out, allowed him to sidle a little bit, sideways, smiling at his antics.

Outlaw reached out toward Rogue's hindquarters and snapped at the other stallion angrily. The African who had a rope tied around the horse's upper lip cursed and grabbed the rope a bit more firmly, and the horse subsided.

Rogue crow-hopped a little, and Jubilee turned and spoke to him soothingly, then reached into her pocket for some horse oats she had hidden the re and fed it to him. Rogue settled down to lip the oats from her hand. The Outlaw, sensing that here was something he might want, too, reached toward her for a mouthful. She dug her hand back into her dress pocket and came up with another handful, which she fed to him as he quieted.

The fat man turned around from his conversation with the conductor and saw her feeding the Outlaw. 'Hey!" he cried indignantly. "You're not allowed to feed him! Only my slaves feed him!"

Jubilee drew her hand back, frightened, and Outlaw reared as he saw his handful of oats taken away. The two burly slaves on the ropes tried to hold him down, but a well-placed kick from one front hoof sent the first man flying. A buck shook off the second man, who dropped the rope looking terrified, and the Outlaw reared high on the platform, his heavy hooves reaching for the sky in an appreciation of his freedom. He came down, and Jubilee offered him the handful of oats again as she reached for the rope to control the horse. He submitted, and she was about to grab the rope when…

The fat man uncoiled his horsewhip and cracked across Jubilee's arm, opening a welt in it only inches from the horse's face. "Stop that!" He snarled. The horse turned on him, flying toward him with pounding hooves and bared teeth. The people who had gathered to watch the train unload screamed and started to stampede away from the rampaging horse.

Jubilee handed Remy Rogue's halter lead, and ran down the train platform, calling the Outlaw's name. The horse was pursuing the fat man, who was running as fast as his short legs could take him, and looking terrified. Jubilee caught the dangling end of the Outlaw's halter rope, shouted for him to stop. The horse didn't stop, but he did slow for a moment. Jubilee took that moment, and ran faster until she could grab the mane and pull herself up.

The horse reared, trying to shake off the little figure that clung to his neck like a burr, but Jubilee didn't give up. She screamed at the crowd to clear the platform as she grabbed the ropes hanging from either side of the horse's lip. Using them as reins, she exerted pressure on the horse' head, turning him in a tight circle. When he tried to rear again, she turned him in another tight circle. The horse kept circling, faster and faster, until finally he came to a stop, swaying dizzily.

She slid off his back, looking exhausted, and held the ropes while she spoke to the horse quietly. Remy handed Rogue's lead rope to the conductor and was about to run to her side when the fat man came running up. Remy was expecting him to thank Jubilee for saving his life; that horse had meant business, but instead the man raised the butt end of his whip and brought it crashing into the side of her head. Jubilee cried out as she went down.

The crowd murmured in anger, but before Remy could step in, the horse moved. Still dizzy and unsteady, Outlaw took a few steps forward, standing over Jubilee protectively while he bared his teeth at the fat man. The man cursed, roared at his two African slaves to get the horse away, and as they led the Outlaw away Remy went to her.

She lay on the wooden platform, unconscious from the blow, and Remy saw the cut on her forehead leaking blood into her hair. The fat man was about to raise his whip again when Remy snatched the thing from him and flung it into the dirt. "What de hell you do dat for?" he snarled at the man. "She saved you r life, mon Dieu, de leas' you could do is t'ank her!"

"She started it!" The man cursed. "Offering feed to him! Doesn't she understand that horse is wild? Why do you think he went after me?"

Remy stared at the man in utter disgust as he cradled Jubilee in his arms. "Outlaw would have calm down right after kicking your slaves if you didn' crack your damn whip in his face," he snapped. He pushed up Jubilee's sleeve and inspected the raw welt on the inside of her wrist. "You hurt her, and she still save your life. I t'ink you owe her some t'anks."

There was an approving murmur from the watching crowd, and the man looked around uneasily. Jubilee gave a soft moan in Remy's arms, and her eyes fluttered open. She immediately closed them and pu t a hand to her head, as though it ached. The fat man snorted. "I don't thank slaves." He turned and was about to push his way back through he crowd when a uniformed man on horseback appeared in front of him. "I saw the whole thing," the officer said to Remy briefly. Then he turned to the fat man. "You injured this man's slave and endangered the lives of a lot of people. The city officially fines you five dollars for endangering the lives of all these people, and orders you to pay restitution to the owner of the slave for your injuring of her." The fat man stopped short, staring but the policeman was implacable. He finally grudgingly dug into his pocket and produced a wallet, giving the policeman a five and Remy two dollars, then turned and strode off.

The policeman dismounted and stopped beside Remy. "She going to be all right?"

Jubilee struggled to her feet, a little unsteadily, and nodded to Remy. "I'm fine." She went back down the train platform to Rogue, taking his reins back from the bystander who had held him. The crowd broke into applause. She looked stunned, but lowered her eyes and simply waited for Remy to get the rest of their stuff.


	29. New York

Chapter 29:

Remy wanted to get going as soon as he could, so arranged for and paid the fare to go to New York. Baltimore was a better city than Jackson was by way of slave laws, and too many people had seen Jubilee keep the outlaw horse from stampeding into the crowd and killing people. The conductor of this train allowed Remy to take Jubilee to the sleeper car (it was almost night, now) and told Remy he would keep an eye on the exhausted, dazed girl while Remy stopped at a doctor's and purchased a roll of bandage for the cut on her forehead, and ointment for the welt on her arm. He stopped just long enough to purchase a loaf of bread, cheese, cold meat that would keep for a day or so if wrapped, and then got back on the car as the train started to pull away from the station.

She was sitting on the bunk in the sleeper car, her hands gingerly inspecting the gash on her forehead, when he came in and closed the door. "De conductor say you can travel in here wit' me instead of back in the slave car wit' de ot'er slaves," he said, sitting on the bunk next to her. "I tol' him you was my body slave, and I intended to 'enjoy your charms' tonight, so he told me you could stay." He pushed her hands away from the gash gently, "No, don' hide it, let Remy see." She dropped her hands obediently, and he sucked in a breath at the black bruise on her forehead. "Dat look nasty. You havin' any problem seein'?" At her puzzled look, he explained. "Sometime after a bad bruise on de head, de vision get fuzzy, don' work so well. Because de blow hurt the brain, keep de brain from absorbing what de eye see."

"Oh." She shook her head. "No, I'm not having problems seeing. My head hurts, a little, but that's it."

Remy carefully wrapped the bandage around her head, tucked in the ends, and put the little pair of scissors into his travel bag before unwrapping the food he'd bought. "Come on, eat," he told her. She shook her head.

"I'm really tired, Remy," she begged him, and indeed she looked it. Remy wondered if he should let her go to sleep, then thought about the way she'd just crumpled when the whip handle connected with her head, and thought maybe that wasn't such a good idea. "Not suppose to go to sleep after bein' hit on de head," he said firmly. "And you got to eat. You los' too much weight de las' mont' or so, since you was whipped. An' all dis traveling so soon ain't been real good for gainin' de weight back." In fact, she was thinner than she had been when they left Logan's. Remy was glad Logan couldn't see what she looked like now. He hadn't been so good at keeping her safe and happy.

He passed her a chunk of bread and some of the meat and cheese. "Here. Eat."

She stared at the cheese curiously. "What's this?"

Remy stared at her. "It's cheese. You never seen cheese before?"

She shook her head. "No. Is it good?"

Remy grinned. "Yes, its good." She eyed the chunk of cheese dubiously, but bit into it. From the expression that lit up her face, he deduced that she liked it.

After the supper, Remy sat back. "So how you like travelin' wit' me so far?"

She grinned wryly at him. "It's an adventure," she said with a hint of the happiness that he'd seen in her back at Logan's ranch. "Wild horses…Oh, Remy," she whispered. "I was so scared when I saw that horse. The other one, the one that scarred me, he looked like that…but Outlaw was really nice, once he got to know me."

"Let me see that scar." Jubilee obligingly came over to sit next to him, and he parted her hair until he saw the scar across the back of her head. "How long did it take you to recover from dat?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said. "An awful long time. I don't remember." She sighed.

Remy sighed too. "Eh, well, you seem okay, so let's get some sleep, _non_?"

She looked suddenly apprehensive, but he got up and started packing away the rest of the food, and didn't see it until he turned around and found her standing beside the bunk with all her clothes off and her hands clasped anxiously in front of her. He stared at her.

She was skinny, but not, thank God, emaciated. She hadn't lost enough weight to make her look like he starved her, which was good. People here in the East kept a sharper eye on how people's slaves looked, and if she got too thin she would attract attention. The whip cuts had all healed, and save for the lighter patches of scarred skin across her breasts and belly, and across her back, ribs, thighs, and calves, she looked normal.

Her weight loss hadn't affected her curves any, and she still looked beautiful to him that way. Desirable. His mouth watered for her, and he reached out to touch one full, round breast…then he stopped. "_Chere_," he said, and stopped. His voice had gone raspy. "_Chere_, please…"

"You told the man you wanted me in your bed tonight," she whispered, looking at him with hurt in her eyes. "I thought…Am I not pretty anymore? Did the Railmaster scar me too badly?" tears welled up in her blue eyes.

"_Non, non_," Remy said, sweeping her into a crushing hug. "It's just…Jubilee, Remy won' touch you unless you want me to. I won' force you like de soldiers did."

"But you said you love me."

Remy sighed and let her go. "I love you. Dat why I won' hurt you like dey did. You come to me when you want to."

"But I don't want to," she whispered, torn. "I love you, and I'll give myself to you if that's what you want, but I won't want to, because it always hurts."

Remy stared at her. "You mean…you never felt pleasure? It never feel good when a man touch you?"

"Is it supposed to?" she asked him, puzzled.

Remy nodded emphatically. "_Oui_. It suppose to feel good all de time, chere. If it don't de man ain't doin' de job right." He ground his teeth at the uncertain look in her eyes. "Look. Remy show you it feel good, okay? But Remy not goin' into you till you tell him he can."

"How?" she whispered.

Remy laid her back on the bunk, carefully, and showed her how it was supposed to feel. His hands slid over her, touching, stroking, caressing, his kisses awakening the fire in her body until she cried out and succumbed to the pleasure overwhelming her.

When she was asleep, exhausted, Remy returned to the table and cut himself some more bread and cheese. How had she managed to keep herself together this long? She had never known that a man's touch could bring her pleasure; she only knew pain, and force. None of the people who had ever touched her had made her feel like that. He felt a sudden surge of happiness that he had been the first one; if not the first in her body, then the first one to show her what union between a man and a woman was like. His own body ached with unreleased need, but he would not, could not, take her body until she was ready for him. He extinguished the lamp in the corner of the car, his hands busy in the dark until he was satisfied. He crawled into the bunk beside her, pulling her body snug against his, and went to sleep.

The horse fair in New York was pitiful. Remy looked disapprovingly at the horses on display for sale, watching Jubilee wander among them, looking for one for herself. He thought longingly of the horse he would give her when they got home to Canada; a spirited black Arabian pureblood mare, with a coat the color the midnight sky and eyes as blue as Jubilee's own. Rogue liked the mare, and Remy had had more success with their pairings than with any other mare Charles had. The horse had cost a small fortune, but her foals had more than paid the price for her. And she would be Jubilee's when they got to Canada.

Jubilee came back, looking disappointed. "They're all so broken-down," she said. "There's none here I'd ride any distance on. They're so dispirited."

"We don't have any choice," Remy said gently, kissing the top of her head as she snuggled into the crook of his arm. "We have to get a horse for you. Isn't there any horse here that interests you?"

She sighed. "I'll go look again." He watched her disappear off into the throng.

Jubilee went back down the rows, looking here and there. As she was about to turn and go back, she saw a horse at the end of the row, and went up for a closer look.

The horse was a muddy-brown color, with a listless look in its big brown eyes. She reached out tentatively, waiting for the horse to sniff her hand, then reached out and lightly touched its neck. Her hand came away dirt-streaked; she rubbed at the neck, and saw that the muddy color was indeed mud. Underneath she saw a dark gray coat, and along the high crest, mostly hidden by matted, tangled mane, she felt a couple of odd ridges. She pushed the hair back a little, and realized they were numbers. Numbers, branded into the neck. She had to clear the mud out of the way to read them. 10T.

She stared at them in shock. Hardly daring to hope, she whispered, "Betsy?"

The horse's head turned at the sound of the name, and the ears pricked. The mare nuzzled into Jubilee's pockets, as if searching for the carrots and sugar and oats she'd always run around the ranch with, and Jubilee cried in delight and hugged the dusty neck. "Betsy!"

Betsy was the tenth foal born to Logan's herd after Thunder had come, hence the number 10. The T was for Thunder, signifying that she was Thunder's foal. Jubilee still remembered watching the mare being born almost three years before. When the time had come to sell the yearlings, Jubilee had argued bitterly with Logan over whether Betsy would go with the sale yearlings or stay at the ranch. Logan had pointed out that he didn't have room for another mare, and had sold her over Jubilee's protests. Now here she was, at a New York horse fair three years later, and Jubilee felt like she had found a long-lost friend, one last link to her beloved Papa.

Remy came up, and she turned to him. "This is Betsy, one of Thunder's foals. I watched her being born three years ago. Remy, please can we buy her?"

Remy looked doubtfully at the horse, who was now sniffing around for the oats that just had to be somewhere in Jubilee's pockets, if she could only find them. "Dis horse look like it gonna fall over anytime," he said doubtfully. "Are you sure?"

"She's only three!" Jubilee said. "If we feed her and take care of her she'll be all right. Please, Remy?"

He would never be able to refuse her when she begged him like that with those big blue eyes. "All right," he said, kissing the top of her head. "I'll buy you de horse. Go see if you can find a saddle for yourself," he pointed to a leatherworker's shop close by the horse fair, and dropped a written note in her hand, which she tucked into her pocket before bolting off to the saddler's.

By the time she came back with a full set of tack for Betsy Remy had gotten the horse washed by one of the urchins hanging around the horse fair hoping for some small job to earn money. And he had to admit that Jubilee had made a good choice. Betsy was placid, quiet, not easily startled; she was also intelligent, and her legs were sound. She still looked a little thin, but that could be easily fixed; and once the mud was washed off, the dark-gray color was nice indeed. She was the color of old iron, with big brown eyes like doe's eyes. And she loved Jubilee. Jubilee put the tack on her, sparing a minute to press her face against the slim neck and shed a few quiet tears at the memory of the man who had trained her, and then wiped them away and mounted up. Betsy picked her head up, whickered softly to Rogue, and stepped out of the enclosed horse pen where the fair was held with somewhat better spirits.

"Where to now?" Jubilee said to Remy, looking more cheerful as she put the tiny bundle that held her things behind the saddle. New York was almost completely anti-slavery, and although Remy still made sure she had a pass wherever she went, no one had asked to see it, and in fact people spoke to her as if she were Remy's equal. Even after they saw the slave collar, the thin molded circle of iron with its brass tag around her throat, they still spoke frankly to her. Remy had suggested that she take it off, but she seemed to want to wear it. He had finally left the topic alone, guessing that she still wanted that tag, Jubilee Logan, with her.

"We head north now," he said.


	30. Canada

Chapter 30:

Remy looked up at the sky. The moon was rising after a prolonged dusk, and wondered if they should stop for the night. There'd been a good rest stop a ways back, but he was on the road leading home, and he was anxious to see home again. He'd been gone almost six months this time. The road was level, there wasn't much chance that either Rogue or Betsy would step into a hole and break a leg. He took a quick glance at Jubilee. She was exhausted; Remy had to push so hard to get to Canada before winter closed in up here, and the grueling pace had been telling on her spirits and strength. She was still enthusiastic in bed with him, but her willingness for anything else was virtually nil.

"Just a little further, chere. Hold on a little longer." She raised her head, looked at him with drooping eyelids that struggled to stay open, and nodded before her chin dropped back onto her chest.

He studied her. If he'd known that this last leg of the journey would take so long he would have found a train to take them a little closer to the town that Charles's mansion was in. He also would have waited until they were home before engaging her in bed games.

She had proved an enthusiastic partner. He had driven her wild with teasing and touches, giving her pleasure without taking it himself, until she caught him after one intense session with his pants down. The night after that she had asked him to take her for the first time. The satisfaction had been sweet. She loved it, and now it was the only thing she really had any enthusiasm for. The long trip through the wilds of upstate New York toward the Canadian border had sapped her strength.

There! A flash of white through the trees, a sudden widening of the road and the abrupt change from lumpy gravel to much smaller, finer grains, and then home stood spread out in front of him. He drank in the sight as Rogue, seeing the stable in the distance, picked up his pace. Betsy picked up her pace too, not knowing where they were, but knowing from Rogue's excited tail swish that up ahead was shelter and food. She was still careful not to jar her passenger, though, and Remy was once again amazed at her intelligence. The horse had gone out of her way to choose the smoothest way and the easiest paths so as not to hurt Jubilee.

The mansion stood at the top of the hill, an imposing structure that looked like the plantation houses in Louisiana, where he had been born. Fields of rolling, waving grass surrounded the house, some cultivated, some not. The slaves that Remy and Charles's son Scott and his friend Henry brought home worked those fields while Scott's wife (and Charles's daughter-in-law) Jean taught them how to read, write, and figure, something many of the slaves didn't presently know how to do. Very few of the slaves that Remy, Scott, and Henry brought home knew how to get along as free people. Remy had always thought of the mansion as something of an inn, admitting slaves and giving them a place to stay while they learned how to sustain themselves outside of the master/slave relationship, and while Charles paid for their freedom papers.

The slaves were brought here, and taught the basics while Charles obtained free papers for them. Each one, thanks to that teaching they were receiving, could then see the price paid for those papers, and decide how much they wanted to have taken out of their wages. The amount taken out would go toward the cost of getting those papers, and when they had paid for them in full, any brands they might have were removed and they were free to leave. Many did, eager to explore a world that had formerly been closed to them. A few stayed, content with their freedom, and became field hands or servants, both here at the mansion and at the breeding stables just up the road. Each one was treated fairly and impartially, and no whip or other implement of punishment was ever used on anyone here. They were wholly grateful for the kindness, and no one had ever abused that kindness and hospitality Charles showed them.

Remy pushed open the gate at the end of the lane, and Betsy trotted on through. He closed it, and then continued on up the lane. When he got to the front door, he pulled the rope attached to the bell.

From out of the darkness a small boy appeared, racing for the sound. He grinned, teeth showing white in the darkness, and smiled. "Mister Remy! Haven't seen you in a while!"

"Been a long time, _non_, Bobby?" Remy ruffled the youngster's sandy blond hair affectionately. "Well, I'm home, and will be home for a while. T'ink you can take Rogue and Betsy here up to de stables and untack dem? Den get de saddlebags an' bring dem up to de house?"

"Sure can, Mister Remy!" Bobby touched his hand to the brim of his cap and turned to the ghorses. "Uh, Mister Remy..." he trailed off.

Jubilee hadn't dismounted. She'd fallen forward over the saddle horn and laid her head on the arched neck of her mount, and gone completely to sleep. Remy walked over and slipped his arms around her waist, lifting her slight weight from the saddle and cradling her in his arms. Bobby gawked, forgetting the manners that he'd been taught at this display of tenderness from the famous loner. Remy said, 'Bobby? I think I asked you to do something?"

"Oh, yes, Sir! Going right now, Mister Remy!" Remy watched the boy walk off toward the stables in the darkness, glancing back occasionally as he went.

Remy turned back to the door, and started to lower Jubilee to the ground. She resisted, wrapping her arms around his neck in her sleep and hugging him tighter.

He was saved from having to wake her up as the front door opened and Jean came out. Remy smiled. Jean just did that to him. She had hair the brightest shade of red Remy had ever seen, and was also warm and motherly. "Remy!" she exclaimed, holding the door open as Remy stepped into the front hall, still carrying Jubilee. "We haven't seen you in ages!" She closed the door, and peeked over his shoulder to see the girl he carried. She sucked in her breath. "Oh, what a lovely girl! But she's so thin! Is she a slave, Remy?"

"Yes," Remy said. "Not now, though, now dat she here. Jean, are dere any rooms prepared for guests in de family wing?"

Jean's penetrating green eyes studied him. "Why not the slaves' quarters?" she asked.

Remy sighed. "As soon as she free I'm goin' to marry her. I love her. I seen her for de firs' time four years ago, but she too young den, an' she wouldn't leave her Papa to come nort' wit' me. Her papa finally sell her to me." He saw the curiosity in her eyes, and sighed again. "Remy really tired now, can we save de questions for tomorrow?"

Jean nodded. "Of course. Come on up. The room next to yours is open, actually; will that do for her?"

Remy started to climb the winding staircase toward the second level. "_Oui_. Dat do fine."

Jean helped him get the dress off, get the shoes off, and tuck the sleeping girl into the bed. As soon as Remy was certain Jubilee was comfortable, he went to his room next door and fell into his bed, still fully dressed, and slept.

"Well, good morning, Remy," said a measured, even voice when Remy wandered into the breakfast room the next morning.

"_Bon matin_, to you too, Charles," Remy said to the tall smiling man sitting alone at the table. "_Café, sil vous plait_," he said to the servant as the woman finished refilling Charles's cup with tea, and slumped into a chair at the opposite end of the table, yawning. "Where everybody else?"

Charles smiled. "Jean is teaching at the moment; Scott and Henry, I believe are down by the stream fixing the water wheel in the mill. It is the middle of the morning, after all. Breakfast has been over for some time." He folded up the handbill he was reading carefully. "Jean tells me you have brought another lamb for our flock."

Remy took the cup of coffee the servant brought with a smile of thanks. "_Merci_. Her name is Jubilee, Charles. She is a slave, though was never treated like one by her former master." He proceeded to tell Charles Xavier all about the young woman sleeping soundly upstairs. "So I brought her here," he said, finishing his story. "I want to free her, and then I want to marry her."

Xavier's eyebrows climbed into his hairline. He had the same sandy blond hair that his nephew Bobby had, cut in the same style. "'Marry', Remy? Not your usual style."

"I know," Remy said soberly. "I don' know, she jus'…she's different den any girl I ever met before. She special."

"We're all special," Charles said wryly, eyes twinkling. "But I understand. Why not go upstairs and see if she's awake, and I'll have Ororo send her boy Evan up to the room with a tray?"

Remy grinned and got up. "_Oui_, I appreciate dat, Charles. When Henry come in, t'ink he can come up and see to her?" He was the mansion's resident doctor.

"She is ill?" Charles's brows knitted in concern. Remy shook his head.

"_Non_, not ill, but…well, she hadn't been up more den t'ree days when we left, an' it been nonstop traveling since den, because I want to get home before snow close the way up nort'," Remy said. "She lost a lot of weight, an' she been extremely tired and weak. Need to see if it just de loss of weight, or if dey somet'ing else wrong wit' her."

Charles nodded. "Of course. If you have her sale paper, I'll begin the process of getting her freedom papers together." Remy pulled the crumpled, travel-stained piece of paper from the pocket of his equally crumpled, travel-stained coat and stood. "I should go get changed, den I go check on her." He nodded to Charles, and left the room.

Charles sat looking after Remy thoughtfully for a while, then got up and went looking for his coat. He wanted to go talk to Henry about their new guest before his physician son went to look at her.

Jubilee blinked as awareness returned. She was lying on something soft, and something equally soft covered her, and she was warmer than she had felt in a month. She pulled at the blanket covering her, as she nestled into the warmth, and then groaned as aches traveled up her body from her saddle sore backside and legs.

"Hey, _chere_," came a soft voice. Remy. She groaned, dispelling the last traces of sleep fog from her mind, and opened her eyes. "Remy?"

"_Oui, chere_," he responded, smiling at her gently. "We got here las' night, an' you was asleep when Remy get you off de horse. I brought you up here an' tuck you in. How you feeling?"

"Tired," she said softly. "And sore." She winced as she tried to shift her weight to sit up, and finally gave up the effort. It was easier to just lie still.

"Dere," Remy said. "Stay still. Ororo de cook, goin' to send up her boy Evan wit' a tray for you pretty soon, den Henry coming to look at you an' see if you okay. He's a doctor," he said to her reassuringly.

"Food? I'm so hungry," she said with a sigh. Remy smiled, and stood as an African boy came in with a tray and put it on the table by the bed. "Mama says to let me know if you need anything else, or if you want anything else, and I'll tell her and she'll get it," the boy announced. "Hello, Mister Remy. Glad you're home. Nice to meet you, ma'am," he said to Jubilee, hoping she would give him her name. No one knew what her name was yet; they had only heard from Jean that Remy had come home, and they had found out that the new guest was in the family wing. The boy was overwhelmed with curiosity. 'I'm Evan." He held out his hand.

Jubilee reached up and took it timidly. She was still not used to being treated like she was Remy's equal. "Jubilee," she said timidly. "Jubilee LeBeau." She was still a slave, which meant she had to use Remy's last name as her own. Remy didn't correct her, so she assumed she was all right.

"Pleased to meet you," he said happily. Now _he_ had information to share with everyone else. "Is the breakfast satisfactory?"

Remy and Jubilee both looked at the tray. Remy saw the leftovers from a breakfast he was used to eating when he was here. Jubilee was looking at what looked to her like a feast. Eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, and even some flapjacks and fried potatoes. There were two plates heaped high, and Jubilee couldn't imagine being able to eat the half of it.

Remy nodded. "It'll do. Did de apples from de orchard start falling yet? I miss dem apples."

"Me too!" The boy looked cheerful. "Mr. Scott says they'll be ready any day now, but some of the early ones are already ripe, if you know where to look. Want me to nick you a few?"

Remy considered. "Is dat going to get you in trouble wit' Ororo?"

Evan grinned. "I'll just tell Ma it's for you. She'll be okay with that. And if it's for Jubilee, she won't mind at all."

Remy grinned back. "Okay, two apples, den, if you don' mind? Maybe if you could add some cheese wit' dat too. Still getting' dat good yellow cheese from de store in town?"

"Oh, yeah," Evan grinned. "I'll let Ma know." And he turned and disappeared.

Remy helped Jubilee up to a sitting position, and picked his own plate up, leaving the tray on her knees so she could eat. She picked up the fork, studied it. "It's silver!" she said wonderingly. "Is it allowed? Slaves aren't supposed to touch silver!"

"No slaves in Canada," Remy said rather indistinctly around a mouthful of bacon. He'd lost a little weight on the hard ride north, too. "You use what de res' of us use."

Jubilee, still staring at the silver fork, dug it into the mound of eggs in front of her, and met with a second surprise. "A china plate?" She stared at it as if afraid she was going to break it just by touching it.

Remy laughed out loud, got food down the wrong way in his throat, and choked. He spluttered for a long moment, as she looked at him, unsure what he saw funny. He finally cleared his airway enough to tell her, "S'okay. Go ahead and eat." She looked down. Really, it smelled really, good, much better than anything she'd eaten in a long time, and her stomach rumbled emptily.

She dug her fork in and started eating.


	31. Jean

Chapter 31: Jean

Henry came in the room as they were finishing up their breakfast. "Hello," he said to Jubilee pleasantly, nodding to Remy. "My name is Henry, I'm a doctor. I would like to check you over, my dear, just to be sure you are all right. May I?"

He was asking her? Could she say no? She looked at Remy for help.

Remy shook his head. "_Chere_, you a free woman now, you make de decisions for yourself. If you don' want no doctor to look at you, just say no. But I would like you to let him look at you, you been t'rough a lot de las' mont' or so."

Jubilee looked at Henry, biting her lip. "Will I have to take all my clothes off?" she whispered.

Henry shook his head. "Only your dress and shift," he said. "Your undergarments should remain on."

There was a soft tap on the edge of the doorframe, and a beautiful red haired woman walked in. "Hello," she said gently, to Jubilee, her voice soft and soothing. "My name is Jean. I found a dress that might fit. The clothes you have on and the clothes in your bundle were worn and dirty, so I checked with the housekeeper and found something that should fit. And you might want to take a bath too, after all that time on the road." She draped an armload of white and blue fabric across the end of the bed, and turned to Remy and Henry. "Well, if you two aren't just the worst! Give the girl a chance to eat and freshen up before you go and barge in on her like that!" she grabbed Remy's arm, levering him up by main force, and dragged him over to the door, then hooked Henry's arm and chased him out too. "Go on! Let her get used to the place, settled in, before you go poking and prodding her. How would you like to get poked at by a complete stranger the minute you wake up! I'll send her along once she's settled in, not before!"

Once they were gone, she closed the door and turned around. "Now that we've gotten rid of the riffraff, let's get you out of those dirty clothes and into a bath." She picked up the dress she'd put down and waited as Jubilee slowly pulled her sore, aching body out of the bed. As Jubilee leaned over and started to push her feet into her shoes, the redhead reached down and felt the bed. "I'll have that replaced," she said to Jubilee. "The feathers are all crushed. You need a new one."

"What?" Jubilee stared at her.

"The feather tick," Jean said, patting the surface of the bed. At Jubilee's uncomprehending look, she said, "Haven't you slept on a feather tick before?"

Jubilee shook her head numbly. "P-P-Papa had big feed sacks stuffed with dried grass for us to sleep on. It was a lot better than sleeping on the hard floor of the boxcar, but it still didn't feel like this."

Jean said, "You stuffed feed sacks with grass? This is kind of the same thing, except we use large linen sacks, and stuff them with raw cotton and feathers. Every so often we take the stuffing out and spread it out on the floor of the bakeroom to dry and air out. When the feathers get too broken to provide a good cushion, we discard the insides and restuff the sack." She saw Jubilee's face. "Where did you live before?"

"In Missouri," Jubilee said timidly. "P-P-Papa…had a horse ranch…we lived in a one room cabin. He put up a wall between my bed and his, but t-t-they made him take it down because I wasn't supposed to have a room of my own."

Jean nodded. "Didn't have many good things way out there in the sticks, did you?" she said sympathetically.

"We couldn't get things like this out there," Jubilee spoke up, forgetting her shyness in the sudden urge to defend Logan. "The only set of china dishes in town belonged to the mayor's wife, and she brought that from back east with her. Everybody else used tin dishes."

"Well, we have china here," Jean said cheerfully, opening the door and holding it open for her. "Come with me. Let me show you where everything is."

Jubilee followed her down the hall. She opened a door, and Jubilee saw the large white porcelain tub sitting in the middle of the room with towels on rails around it. An African woman was just pouring a last bucket of water in it. "Thank you, Mary," Jean said to the woman, and the woman smiled at Jean and Jubilee, teeth flashing white in her dark face, and left the bathing room by another door.

"This is the bathing room," Jean told Jubilee. "You wash here. When you want to take a bath, just let the housekeeper know (I'll introduce you to her later) and she'll have the servants start drawing water from the well downstairs. They'll bring it up here and pour it in the tub, and then bring up hot rocks from the fireplace downstairs. The rocks are dropped into the water to heat the water, and voila! You have a warm bath." She picked up a cake of soap and handed it to Jubilee. "Use this to wash yourself with; washing cloths are in the basket over there. When you're done, open this door here," and she pulled open a door that Jubilee had taken for a cupboard, but actually revealed a dark hole. "Just toss any soiled items, including dirty clothes, down here. The chute leads down to the laundry room. The maids there will wash it and send it back up to your room."

"I-I-I'd like to wash my own clothes," Jubilee stammered.

Jean's eyes twinkled. "Theresa will have something to say about having you going through her washroom, but if you're willing to give a hand with other things, she'll welcome your help. Now come on, get those clothes off and toss them down the chute, then take your bath. I'll be back in a half hour to see how you're doing." She gave Jubilee a friendly smile before stepping out of the bathing room and closing the door after her.

Jubilee looked around the room. This was a luxury she'd never had before; a hot bath! She was used to going to the creek behind the house for a swim to wash, and used water from the well to wash with rags in winter when the creek was frozen. A tub big enough to sit down in was something she'd heard only rich people had. The mayor had one in his house; he was the only one. She'd never thought to have a sitting bath in her life. And warm! Suddenly unable to contain her excitement, she stripped off the soiled clothes she'd been wearing and tossed them down the chute, then stepped into the bath.

The tub was so long she could actually lie down in it and submerge everything below her neck, and one end of the tub had an indentation in its lip for a person to rest the neck in. She found it was quite comfortable, and simply lay in the warm water for a long time, feeling the heat leech out the soreness and fatigue from her body. Finally, reluctantly, she reached for the cake of soap.

And here was another surprise; the soap smelled sweetly of lavender flowers and strawberries. She was surprised. How had they managed to get scent in the soap? Happily, she washed herself all over, scrubbing away every trace of dirt and grime from the long trip, then submerged her head and washed her long, heavy black hair. When she finally got out of the tub, the water was dark with dirt, and her skin shone clean. Jubilee dried herself off and reached for the clothes.

There was a pair of white underdrawers, frilly white pantaloons, stockings, a white shift, and a white petticoat. Jubilee pulled them all on, then reached for the blue dress. This was nicer than anything she'd ever had; all her dresses were plain, dark colors, suitable for a slave. This dress hugged her body, tight around her middle and loose past her hips, and the built-in corset pushed her breasts up and out. The neckline was low enough to show some of her décolletage, without being scandalously low. Jubilee ran her hands down the fine cotton weave, her work-roughened fingers unable to find a single snag in the fabric, and she wondered uncomfortably if she should give the dress back. It was surely too expensive for her.

She was debating that when the door opened again and Jean came back in. "Oh, good, you're done," Jean said. "Well, I'm glad the dress fits. Don't worry, I know it's a little shabby and faded, but we can get you some more decent clothes later when we go into town later."

This? Shabby? Jubilee looked down at the dress. "This is much better than anything I've ever had," she whispered. "I don't want anything else."

Jean laughed. "Oh, nonsense. You're not going to wear that old thing around every day!" she held up a comb. "Here. Let's get your hair done. Those braids aren't very fashionable here; let me show you…"

By the time she was done, Jubilee's hair was arranged in a series of small braids looped and wrapped around her head. Jubilee touched her hair shyly, her eyes rolling upward to see what it looked like, and Jean laughed. "Here." She pulled Jubilee over to the far wall, where a long pane of glass leaned against the wall. The back of the glass was painted black, and Jubilee, looking into the front, could see herself reflected. She stared in surprise.

Having never seen herself except in the water of the stream behind the ranch, which distorted her reflection, she didn't expect to see what she actually saw. She was pretty! No wonder Remy always laughed at her when she told him she was plain! Her wide blue eyes matched the dress, and her now clean and coiffed black hair set off the pallor of her skin nicely.

Jean giggled, and tugged her arm. "Enough. Let's give the servants some time to empty the bath. I need to show you the rest of the house." She smiled. "This is Charles Xavier's mansion. My husband Scott is Charles's son; Henry, whom you met, is a friend of Charles's. Remy was the first slave Charles liberated; he's been here the longest. We live here in the family wing. I'm sort of the woman of the house, since Scott's mother, Charles's wife, died some years back." She was leading the way down the staircase as they spoke, and Jubilee stared in awe at the splendid wooden floors, thick carpet pieces, and tasteful, obviously expensive décor of the front hall and the front rooms. Jean seemed oblivious to it all as she led Jubilee down the front hall to a long room. "This is the dining room. We eat here. Charles insists that we dress for dinner…remind me to hunt out another dress for you for tonight, if I can't pry Ororo from the kitchen." She led Jubilee through the dining hall and into a large kitchen. "Ororo!" she called into the clouds of steam. "Ororo is our cook and housekeeper," she added to Jubilee by way of explanation.

"I am right here, Jean, you need not shout," said a voice, and from out of those clouds of steam came the tallest African woman Jubilee had ever seen. She was beautiful, if exotic-looking; her braided hair was silver, but she didn't look old. She looked not much older than Jean herself. "This is our new guest?" she smiled and swept a plate off a nearby counter. "We had none of the cheese left; I sent Evan down to the market for some for tonight; but the apples are here." Jubilee looked down, wonderingly, and saw slices of pale-fleshed apple with deep crimson skin on the outside. She shyly took a piece and bit into it.

The juice of the fruit flooded her mouth, and she closed her eyes in delight, savoring the taste. Apples didn't do well in the arid soil of Missouri; the trees didn't get enough water. Jubilee had scrounged for huckleberries, blackberries, and raspberries along with the Indian children, but had never tasted apples before.

Jean grinned at her expression. "Tasty, aren't they? They do a little better here than other places. In another week we'll be doing the annual apple picking, you'll want to join us in that. We have contests to see who can pick the most, and then all we women help with the preserving, canning, and pressing. Ororo's an incomparable cook; she makes the best apple cider and apple pie for miles around, and Charles loves the sweet apple wine." She turned to Ororo. "I was wondering if you would like to accompany us to the stores for some clothes for her. She hasn't got a single stitch that's decent for standing up in. I got this old dress from Marie's stuff," (and there was a gentle silence, a pause Jubilee didn't understand, but didn't have the temerity to ask about) "but she isn't as …ahem…well-endowed…as Marie was, and they don't fit her well. She really should have something other than old clothes."

"Oh, certainly," Ororo said. "I shall be happy to. Let me just get into decent clothes, and we can go. Has she a hat?"

"Uh, no," Jean frowned. "Guess I should go get one for her, right?" She turned to Jubilee. "Let's go find you a hat, and I'll get my handbag, and we can go."


	32. The Mansion

Chapter 32:

Jubilee sat down gingerly on the seat and shook her head in bewilderment. She would never get used to this!

'Going' had been a somewhat more involved process than Jean had made it sound. There had been much rummaging around in wooden crates before Jean had found a hat for Jubilee. When Jubilee had tried to forestall the redhead, Jean had waved aside the stammered protests and continued her search. She had finally come up with one, which she handed to Jubilee with a smile and then fussed with it until it was perched just so on Jubilee's raven-black locks. Finally satisfied, she led the girl out of the room and met Ororo downstairs.

Jubilee thought they would leave then, but such was not the case. There was another wait of about ten minutes, and she was just starting to wonder what they were waiting for when they heard the sound of wheels on the gravel drive. Jean opened the front door and stepped out into the bright sunshine, and Ororo and Jubilee followed. Jubilee stopped short when she saw the carriage.

It was a large black covered carriage, capable of seating four. Jean and Ororo climbed in without hesitation, but Jubilee hung back, suddenly unsure Jean turned around once she got herself seated, and held out a hand to her with a gentle, understanding smile. "Come on," she said. "Step up. We live in town, Jubilee, and everyone has carriages to ride around in, or horses to ride. Very few people walk anywhere. And you're not a slave anymore, you're a free woman, and you're one of us. Come on up. Don't be afraid."

Jubilee climbed up, slowly, and settled into the seat across from Jean. Ororo leaned over to speak to the driver, and Jubilee felt the carriage begin to move.

The roads were well-smoothed, and the carriage proceeded down the lane at a surprisingly good clip. Jubilee, overcoming her earlier shyness, leaned out of her seat to look out the window. The road was bordered on either side by a rail fence, and lots of green fields. To her left, off in the distance, she saw a low building of some sort; a stable, she presumed. She pointed and asked, "What's that?"

"Those are the breeding stables Charles owns," Jean said after a look at what Jubilee was indicating. The horses were walking slowly enough that they had a good view of the stables as the carriage passed on the road. "Charles loves horses. Scott's okay, but he doesn't really have that passion for them the way his father does, even though he's the manager of the stables."

Jubilee watched as a figure led a tall black horse out of the stables. "I wonder if I could see that sometime," she said, more to herself than the other two women.

"You will," Jean said cheerfully, confidently. "Remy will have to take you over there to choose a horse for you to ride."

Jubilee was about to ask why she would need a horse when there was the sound of hoofbeats on the grass, and a second later the loveliest horse Jubilee had ever seen came into view. She was coal-black, the color Papa had called shadow black, with a high crest, long, flowing black mane and tail, and a fiery, intelligent look in her sky-blue eyes. Jubilee gasped and pointed. "Look!"

Jean smiled at the girl's enthusiasm. "That's Charles's new filly. Bought her about six months ago for a fairly low price, considering she's pureblood Arabian. But she's something of an outlaw; completely wild, and she's never been halter broken or trained."

Jubilee breathed out, slowly. "Papa would give his right arm for a horse like that," she said. "Is she intelligent?"

Jean shrugged. "I don't know, Jubilee, I don't bother with the horses. They scare me a little, frankly. I have a mare in the stables that I ride once in a while, but that's as close as I'll get to the horses."

Jubilee sat back down, looking at Jean mystified, as the black filly stopped at the corner of the pasture and the carriage continued on. "How can you be scared of horses?"

Jean shrugged. "I was raised in the middle of a town," she said candidly. "I walked everywhere, or took a carriage. I'm a city girl, not a country one." She grinned. "Look up ahead. That's what I grew up with."

Jubilee looked up ahead, leaning out of the window, and saw a town so much bigger than Jackson that she suddenly felt a wave of homesickness hit her. She blinked furiously to clear the tears from her eyes. She missed the narrow, dirt streets. She missed the little stores and shops and all the people she had come to recognize after four years of seeing them so often. Most of all, she missed home, and Papa. She had to fight not to cry. That wasn't home for her anymore, as much as she wanted to be able to go back. She couldn't. Logan didn't want her, didn't love her, anymore.

She wiped the tears away furtively as she stepped out of the carriage in front of the milliner's, whatever that was. Jean went to the door, opened it, and she and Ororo stepped in, Jubilee following. And then Jubilee stopped.

Jean turned to say something to her, and smiled when she saw Jubilee's awestruck expression. "This is a dressmaker's," she said. "I guess, where you lived, you had to make your own clothes, right?" Jubilee nodded dumbly. "Well, here we can go and buy our dresses ready-made. We don't have to make them unless we want something that isn't in the store. And eve then Mistress Hannah can make dresses fir us if we want it." She opened her arms wide. "So let's go shopping, and get you some clothes!"

Jubilee found that shopping with two women wasn't like going to the drygoods stores with Logan and picking out bolts of cloth to sew into clothes. For one thing, this shop had so many different colors, types, and styles of dresses that she had no idea where to start. She wandered down racks of dresses in satin, wool, cotton, calico, gingham, and other fabrics she couldn't even name, and when she finally picked out a dress of modest, somber charcoal-gray cotton, Jean shook her head, laughed, and took the dress away from her. 'Silly, you're not going to a funeral." She said.

"But that's all the colors I'm used to wearing!" Jubilee protested. "I can't wear all these bright colors, I'm a--"

"Slave?" Jean said, smiling as Jubilee trailed off in confusion. "You're not a slave anymore, dear. Remy told us he brought you here to free you, and then he wants to marry you. So you can't go around wearing dark colors. Come on. We'll help."

Ororo came up with a blue dress, and gave it to Jubilee. "Mistress Hannah has a changing room in the back. Go back there and take off the dress you're wearing, and put this on and come out so we can see how it fits." Jubilee took the dress and went through the door at the back of the shop, and soon afterward came out wearing the dress.

Mistress Hannah came bustling over to see how things were going, and made an approving sound when she saw the dress. "Right lovely color for her, with her eyes matching and all, eh?" She walked around Jubilee, and the girl blushed at being the object of such scrutiny. Hannah made a disapproving sound. "But too thin. Much too thin. You'll have to put some meat on those bones, eh, Jean?" She smiled at the redhead.

"I don't have to," Jean replied cheerfully. "Remy will. He brought her here and installed her in the room next to his in the family wing up at the house."

"Ah," Hannah said, as if she understood. For all Jubilee knew, she very well might. "Well, since she will be gaining some weight, perhaps an extra seam here, which can be let out later, will suffice." She took a pinch of fabric around a side seam beside the bodice and looked at Jean. Jean nodded. "Very well, then," Hannah said cheerfully. "This is her town dress, is it not?"

"Yes," Ororo said, when Jubilee looked mystified. "She will need two or three everyday dresses, and two dinner dresses."

Jubilee stared at them. "I have to have more than one?"

Jean nodded. "We do things a little differently, Jubilee. You'll have a couple of everyday dresses, a little plainer than the one you have now. The dress you have on will be your town dress, the dress you put on when you go out. And because Charles insists that we dress for dinner, you'll have to get two fancy dresses for dining."

Jubilee's mouth dropped open at the thought of so many clothes, and Jean laughed. "Go on in, take that off, and try this on," she said, pushing an armful of earth-brown cloth at her. "This is one of the everyday dresses."

Jubilee walked back into the room and closed the door, then began the process of slipping out of the dress. She was stunned. She would need so many clothes? Why, it was easier being a slave, she didn't have to wear so much. And with this many layers of clothes on, how was she expected to move? What kinds of chores could she do in dresses like this? She wished with all her heart that she could go back to Papa, where all she wore…all she had to wear…was her white petticoat, her white pantaloons, and a plain, no-frills frock of plain gray, black, or denim blue cloth. She wished mightily for that denim cloth; the clothes made from it held up well to the hard traveling she and Remy had been doing.

She chose, for her everyday dresses, two frocks of plain sparrow-brown stuff; then when Jean picked out a buttercup yellow dress for dinner wear, she firmly refused and chose instead a cranberry dress with long sleeves and a smaller bustle than anything else. "Remy likes red,' she said in explanation to the other two women, carefully not mentioning the fact that the red dress was easier to move in than the yellow one, which was incredibly heavy and made of so many layers of frothy satin she wondered how long it Had taken to make it.

She slipped into the red dress that evening, and was doubly glad for her choice. The dress was hard enough to move in; the stupid shoes just made walking harder.

They had stopped at the cobbler and gotten her shoes to match the dress. They were ridiculous little high-heeled slippers that Jubilee hated but that the cobbler insisted were all the fashion lately. Jean had backed him up, but Jubilee insisted on getting a pair of sturdy buttoned shoes like she had been accustomed to wearing, despite the cobbler's protestations that a small, dainty foot like hers should be in delicate, dainty shoes. Jean smiled, and let her have her way, and Jubilee also purchased a pair of boots, like the ones she had gone riding in at the ranch.

Remy was sitting at the far end of the table when she and Jean made their entrances for dinner, and she saw that he approved of her choice too, from the way his eyes flashed approval at her. All the men in the room, Charles included, rose from their seats as the two women entered, a courtesy that Jubilee felt disconcerted by from the novelty of it, and Remy pulled her chair out for her as Scott pulled out Jean's. Ororo stood in the doorway of the dining room, similarly dressed but with a billowing white apron on over the dress as she directed servers to place the dishes they carried in the appropriate places on the table. When all the platters were carried in, she removed her apron and sent it into the kitchen with one of the maids, then Henry pulled out her chair for her.

The table was loaded with more food than Jubilee had ever seen in one place her whole life. Even the Railmaster, the richest man she'd ever known, didn't eat like this. A huge haunch of beef graced the center of the table, its savory aroma setting her mouth to watering; there were potatoes and some kind of green vegetable on the side, and a large bowl of something Jean called a 'salad', which was nothing more than raw greens mixed with a 'dressing' of oil, vinegar, and herbs. It was surprisingly good, though, Jubilee admitted when she tasted it; the 'dressing' turned what she would have thought to be horse food to something palatable for human consumption. Then, to drink, there was wine. Jubilee didn't like the taste, but she sipped it obediently. Jubilee wondered, wistfully, if Logan would have liked some of this. There was a plate of steaming hot, fresh bread, with a soft cheese that tasted so much better than the stuff that Remy had bought from inns along the way. Butter there was, too, but Jubilee, after the first taste, avoided it, choosing cheese for her bread instead. The butter she had made at the ranch for herself and her dear Papa tasted much better, and she smiled behind her slice of bread. As fancy as these people were, they still couldn't make butter. It made her feel better.

The food on the table disappeared faster than she'd ever thought possible, and when she finally sat back, watching as the plates were carried back to the kitchen, she wondered what everyone was waiting for. Moments later, a serving girl came out with three apple pies. The others smiled, and dug into it, and Remy cut her a huge piece and dumped it on her plate, despite her protesting that she was full and didn't want it. She ate obediently, feeling like she was going to burst the seams of the gown, and rose when the others did. Suddenly, she was feeling tired and sleepy, and Remy saw. Charles was about to address her, to ask her if she would come to his study to talk with him, but Remy gave his head a tiny, negative shake. Charles looked at the sleepy girl, and decided it would be better for Remy to take her up to her room.

Jubilee was so sleepy she barely noticed when he started unlacing her dress. She did snap at him when he started to loosen her shift, and insisted she could get undressed by herself. Protests notwithstanding, he waited until she had fallen asleep before he left her room, quietly closing the door.


	33. Horsetaming

Chapter 33:

There was a light tap on her room door.

Jubilee hastily smoothed down the skirt of the brown dress she'd gotten the day before, and made sure her petticoat was completely hidden. Then she went to the door and opened it.

Remy stood there, dressed in a black riding coat and complete riding gear. "Ma chere mademoiselle," he said, smiling at her as he extended his arm, "May I have de honor of escorting you to breakfast?"

She smiled at him. It was meant in fun, but he had such a serious look in his eyes and a way of saying the simple words that made her unsure if he was actually serious. "Mais oui, monsieur," she said, laughing a little at his surprise. He had taken up the time on the trail to teach her some of the basics of his language, but she'd never had the temerity to actually try to say it. Now seemed as good a time as any.

She took his arm, and they went down the wide staircase. Again Jubilee was struck by the beauty and grandeur of the house, and missed what Remy was saying until he finally tugged gently on her sleeve. "I'm sorry," she blushed. "This is still all so new to me…"

"Don' worry. Remy feel de same way too when he firs' come here, but now it feels like home. I can' imagine living anywhere else." Remy smiled. "I was saying dat Charles want to speak to you after breakfast. An' Henry wan' to look at you too, to make sure you okay, an' so we have a doctor's certification dat you soun' of min' an' body for de application for freedom papers."

Jubilee sighed, but Remy looked serious. "An' I wan' to make sure you okay. You didn' have no doctor after dat whippin' de Railmaster give you an' I'm still worried dat you might have broken a rib. It still hurt?"

"No," Jubilee said after a moment of thought. "A little bit, when I run or do something strenuous, but other than that, no, it doesn't hurt."

Remy looked happier, but he said, 'Still, I wan' him to look at you. Will you do dat after you talk to Charles? An' when you done dat, I have a surprise for you."

Jubilee frowned. "Jean and Ororo have already given me clothes and shoes and stuff, I don't think I need anything else."

"We'll see," Remy said, smiling to himself. "We'll see. Ah, here we are." He swung open the doors into the dining room, and all the gentlemen stood up again as she entered. Jubilee felt her face grow hot as Remy led her to her seat and sat her down in her chair at the table, and Ororo, dressed in an everyday dress of light gray stuff, directed the servers to put their dishes on the table.

Eggs, cooked two different ways; bacon, sausage, fried potatoes, grits, oatmeal, flapjacks, and toast with butter or preserved fruit made up this meal. Again Jubilee was struck by how much of it there was. She took her usual small portions, but when the platter of bacon went past him he took two more pieces and dumped them on her plate. Same with the sausage. "Eat," he told her bluntly. "Dere's more where dat came from. An' you need to gain de weight back."

Everyone was served, and Jean said grace, and they commenced eating. Jean was telling Charles about the progress of some of her students in their makeshift school; Scott and Henry, apparently, were debating whether to replace or just fix a part of something called a 'mill', Remy and Ororo were discussing the annual apple-picking day, which was apparently being planned for a day two weeks from now. Jubilee sat quietly, listening to the conversations while she ate, then when she was full she nibbled daintily at a piece of toast spread with preserved apple as she listened to the conversation.

When everyone was done, the men stood and waited for Jean and Ororo to rise from the table first. Then Charles looked directly at Jubilee. "My dear, would you please come to my study? I would like to have a word with you." Feeling self-conscious, Jubilee followed him quietly from the room.

He opened the door to his study and gestured her to step in before he closed the door. Jubilee stood, looking around, her fingers twisting nervously in the folds of her dress.

The study was paneled in light colored wood, and the floor was the same, the boards sanded smooth and polished to a dull shine. She came to a stop on the heavy burgundy carpet in front of the desk, feeling nervous and out of place, and cast her eyes down demurely to the floor as Charles walked around the heavy ornate desk and sat down. "Please," he indicated the two chairs in front of the desk. "Have a seat. I won't keep you long."

Jubilee perched on the edge of one of the padded chairs, uneasily. Charles sighed. "My dear, I am not a wild horse, I'm not going to kick you or bite you." She looked up, startled at his words, and saw him grinning at her. He nodded. "That's better. Remy said you had lovely eyes; I can see what he means." He smiled, and Jubilee slowly smiled back.

Charles sat back. Did she have any idea how that smile transformed her face? Far from being simply pretty, when she smiled she was absolutely lovely. He leaned forward across his desk as he saw her relax slightly. It was too soon to ask her to be completely comfortable, but this was a good start. "Remy has no doubt told you that I own all of this here. What he probably didn't tell you is that all the permanent residents here have their names on the list; Scott, Jean, Henry, Remy, and, should you choose to make this your permanent home, you will be added to the deed as well. So consider this your home, for as long as you wish to call it home." He broke off as he saw her try to wipe away a tear. "Why, what's wrong?"

"Papa said the same thing," Jubilee sniffed, trying not to cry and not succeeding. 'He said I could live with him as long as I wanted to, but then he threw me out and made me leave with Remy. I don't know why, it wasn't even my fault."

Charles sat back, his mind whirling. Remy had told him John Logan had been harsh with the girl to get her to go with Remy, and also so she wouldn't try to return to him and her home. Obviously, though he had told Charles, he hadn't told Jubilee why Logan had chased her away. Charles compressed his lips. It was obviously tearing the girl up inside, to believe that her beloved adopted father didn't love her anymore. He would have to have a talk with Remy about telling her the real reason John Logan had said the hurtful things he'd said, and why he had done what he'd done. In the meantime, however…"Perhaps he had his own reasons. I wouldn't presume to guess at his intentions, but maybe he thought it best for you to leave, or maybe he spoke in haste and may come to regret it later." He spoke gently, and then got up and walked around his desk, leaning against the front of the desk and patting her hands where they sat in her lap, tightly laced together and white-knuckled with the anguish in her heart. "In the meantime, I wanted to tell you that this is your home, and we care about you here, and we want you to be happy. I realize you may not be completely comfortable with so much time on your hands.

"Scott, Jean, and Henry buy slaves from America and bring them up here to be freed. Much of the time when they arrive here they are unable to read, write, or do simple mathematics. So, when they first come here, I have them attend Jean's school to learn how to read their free papers, and also so they can see the cost of those papers, and make an informed decision on how they want to pay that back. Most of them take jobs around the property here, jobs for which they receive wages. It is up to them how much they wish to give me out of their weekly wages to pay for the papers, although most of them choose to give all they earn each week until the debt is paid, since food and shelter are free. Thanks to Jean's teaching, they can ask to see the balance anytime and watch the amount go down. This way they are sure that I am not cheating them. I wish to offer you the same thing."

"Papa taught me to read and write, and I taught myself how to figure," came Jubilee's soft reply. 'I found one of his wife's cookbooks in a box of old things, and in order to understand the recipes and learn to cook I had to learn numbers and letters."

Charles smiled. "That means that Jean's lessons are unnecessary for you. Is there anything you like doing, any skill you have learned, that would be of use around the property?"

"I like horses." Jubilee's eyes shone with excitement when she thought of the black filly she'd seen the previous day. "Papa bred, raised, and trained horses, and I helped them and cared for them. I'll clean your stables if you let me spend time with the horses."

Xavier looked at the small, slim girl sitting in front of him, and wondered how she'd be able to handle the heavy draft horses that pulled the plow. Maybe he should see her with the horses first? "Well, I could always use more help with the horses," he said. "The stable manager I have now has some experience with the horses, but some of his methods are…slightly questionable. I think he can be somewhat heavy-handed with some of them, especially the high-strung purebreds, but that is only personal opinion. Would you consider riding out to the stables with me, then, and we will see if you like the horses I have? They are a far cry from the mustangs your father undoubtedly had."

"Is it okay if I ride in this?" Jubilee looked down at her new dress, making a face. "It's not very practical."

Xavier looked at the dress, and smiled. "I have never found women's clothing practical," he said candidly. "What did you wear when you were at your Papa's ranch?"

"Just a dress, or a skirt and blouse. I didn't bother with all these underskirts," Jubilee twitched at her long, full, puffy skirts irritably. "Papa didn't see the point in all those underskirts either."

Xavier smiled. 'Perhaps the dress Jean found for you yesterday morning will suffice, then?" he said. "If you are more comfortable in clothing like that, please, feel free to wear them during the day when you're home. Theresa, our laundress, actually prefers to wear boys' trousers when she is working. If you'd like to do that, I can see no reason why you couldn't as well." He stood up. "If you will go and change now, I could take you over to the stables. I need a little fresh air myself."

Jubilee went upstairs to change, looking more animated than she had seemed yesterday in the few small glimpses he'd seen of her throughout the day, and Charles found Remy waiting for them outside the study door. She kissed his cheek and ran upstairs before he could ask her what was going on, so Charles paused to explain. "I'm going to take her over to the stables. She says she has some experience with horses, but I am doubtful she is as good with them as she claims."

Remy grinned. "I'll come along, den. De surprise I have for her is in de stables anyway. Let me tell you somet'ing, Charles. You in for a surprise." He grinned smugly and walked away, whistling.

Bobby got Rogue, Betsy, and Charles's mount Excalibur out of the riding stables for them. Jubilee, however, insisted on taking Betsy up herself as she told Charles about Betsy's past, and the fact that she'd known the horse since birth. Without the frothy underskirts hampering her, she swung into the saddle astride with ease, and soon the three were heading down the drive toward the horse stables at the outer edge of the Xavier property. On the way, Charles explained that he had two stables, one close to the house for the horses used for riding, and the other, in the far fields, was for the horses he used for breeding and for farm work.

As they walked into the yard and stopped it was strangely quiet. Instead of dismounting, Charles walked Excalibur around the rear of the stables, and running around the perimeter of the corral was the beautiful black filly Jubilee had seen before. Although her lines were still clean, and she was still beautiful, she was exhausted, her eyes were rolling wildly, and she was breathing so hard the red lining in her nostrils showed.

In the center of the corral was a large, burly African, one of the biggest men Jubilee had ever seen in her live. Six feet tall, with arms and legs like trees, he was holding the end of a rope and a long, thick black leather bullwhip. The other end of the rope, Jubilee saw, was tied to a halter equipped with a cruel curb bit buckled around the horse's head. Bloody froth colored the horse's lips, and the heavy bit, far too grueling for a small, delicate filly, chafed at the thin skin at the corners of the horse's mouth.

The man was forcing the horse to run. Turning around in the center, he kept the whip cracking over the sweating black back. The horse suddenly stumbled and went down on her front knees in the dust.

The man hauled on the lunge line cruelly. "Get up!" he snarled at the black Arabian. "I'll teach you to bite me!" When the horse refused to move, he cracked the whip over that sleek black back.

Jubilee was off her saddle and ducking under the corral fence before Remy could call her back. She flung herself over the prostrate horse and cried out, "Stop!"

The man's face clouded angrily at this little girl who commanded him so imperiously, but when he glanced at the fence, over which Charles and Remy were now sitting, watching the proceedings, Charles gave him a nod, silently backing Jubilee. Xavier had spent a lot of money on that horse, at Remy's behest. She was a pureblood Arabian, full of fire and spirit, and if he could breed her with his prize stallions, the foals would be well worth the trouble of keeping her around. She was troublesome; she lashed out with hooves or teeth at anyone who came too close, and although she was pretty, they hadn't been able to do much with her.

Jubilee's hands fumbled with the buckle on the halter, finally getting it undone and throwing it aside. Next went the rope that was tied in a tight twitch around the lower jaw. When the horse was completely free of the ropes and straps, Jubilee went to the corner of the corral and grabbed an empty bucket, filling it at the trough and bringing it back to the horse. 'There," she said, speaking softly, soothingly, comfortingly. "It's all over."

The burly man stood in the middle of the corral, watching her. "Lady," he said finally, "Watch them teeth there, this one's wild, and a biter. Wouldn't want you to get bitten--"

He got no further. Jubilee cried out in pain as the filly whipped her head around, sinking her teeth into the girl's upper arm. She bit back the sharp cry as the horse looked at her, daring her to do her worst, and carefully, making no sudden moves, got up. The man was about to step forward, but Jubilee held up her hand. "No. Stop. Don't go near her. She's tired, she's in pain, and I tried to touch the sore welt on her neck. I'm not blaming her, but she needs to learn not to bite. Leave her here, and come with me." Leaving Remy, Charles and the rest of the stablehands watching the horse, she went into the stable.

She pushed her sleeve up and inspected the bite, and sighed when she saw it wasn't deep. The horse didn't bite me to hurt me," she told the African stable manager bluntly. "If she'd wanted to really hurt me she could have snapped my arm when she bit me." Jubilee grabbed for a handful of clean rags in the tack room and wrapped it around her arm. "Do you have any potatoes here?"

"What?" the man stared at her stupidly.

"My papa used to have potatoes in the barn, and when he got hungry he'd put one on a small fire to cook. Do you have any potatoes?"

Still scratching his head, the man pointed to a sack in the corner. Jubilee dug into the sack, found three good-sized potatoes, and put them over the small fire that was used to heat and shape horseshoes.

It didn't take long for them to get done, and the man's puzzlement sharpened as she placed one against the wrapping on her arm and tied another cloth over top of it. The sleeves then came down, and aside from a slight bulge there, there was no sign of the potato strapped to her arm. She put the other two in a bucket, and walked grimly back out to the corral.

Some of the other hands had gone back to their chores, but most of them were right where they had been when she rode up. Charles and Remy were also still watching.

The black filly was up and walking around, her sides still heaving with her breaths but no longer as winded as she had been. Jubilee took another rag and went into the corral. She dampened the cloth in the water left in the bucket, and began to stroke the horse's still sweaty skin. She started around the hindquarters, and worked her way up, and when she got close to the cut on the neck she had touched before, the filly turned and sank her teeth into Jubilee's arm in the same place she'd bitten before. This time, Jubilee made no outcry.

The filly's head went back on her neck, and she snorted as her face went through a series of contortions that was almost comical. Jubilee watched as the horse danced away sideways, whinnying and shaking her head as her mouth hung open. She sidestepped to the trough, lowered her head, and took a long drink. When she raised her head Jubilee was there. "There now, I guess you won't be biting anyone else in a hurry, eh, girl?' Jubilee patted the horse's withers, then reached for the cut on the neck again. The horse snorted, but she didn't bite or lash out. Jubilee wiped the cut free of sweat and dirt, then led her out of the corral and turned her out into the filly pasture. The stablehands watched as she handled the filly calmly, and stared at her as she came back. Jubilee laughed aloud, and pulled her sleeve up, revealing the potato still on her arm. "A hot potato," she told them. "She burned her mouth on a hot potato. Am I right in guessing she bites the same arm, same place?" She'd seen the rags tied around the arms of some of the stable lads.

At their chorus of assent, She said, "For the next few weeks, tie hot potatoes over your arm when you go into her stall or near her. If she tries to bite you, she'll burn her mouth on a hot potato. It'll cure her of biting without breaking her spirit or hurting you. Got me?" When they nodded, she climbed the fence and headed back to Charles and Remy.


	34. New Job

Chapter 34:

Remy smiled broadly as she came up, flushed but triumphant, with Andrew following. 'Where you learn to do dat, _chere_?" he asked, throwing an arm around her shoulder. She leaned her head against his chest and smiled, at him and Charles.

"Papa used to do that with the horses that bit him," she said. "Storm bit him once, really bad. After the potato, he never tried again. I think that black filly is going to need to learn the lesson a few more times, but I don't think there's going to be a problem with serious biting anymore."

"Well, dat was my surprise for you, chere. When I saw you handle dat outlaw on de train platform I figured you were de perfec' person to take her in hand. She your horse now."

Jubilee's eyes shone in delight. "Really? Mine? But Remy…" Her eyes flicked quickly to Charles.

Xavier laughed and patted her shoulder. "It is quite all right. Remy was the one who purchased the horse, and therefore the horse is his, to dispense with as he chooses."

Jubilee turned to look at the field, watching the filly as she rolled in the lush green grass. "What's her name?" she asked Andrew.

Andrew flushed. "She don't have no name, Mistress," he told her, touching the brim of his cap respectfully. "We jus' calls her the black one, cause she so unmanageable."

"Well, I can't call her that," Jubilee said, eyes flashing. Her eyes returned to the pasture, where the black filly was dancing sideways while another filly nipped at her withers. "Papa used to call that color shadow," She said thoughtfully. "And she's quick as a cat when she goes to bite. I'll call her Shadowcat." She smiled. "And you are…?

"Andrew, Mistress," the man brushed his cap brim again.

Jubilee smiled. "I'm not a mistress, Andrew, I don't have papers yet. I'm just another slave Remy brought up from the states." Andrew straightened up. He had free papers; she didn't. He didn't have to be respectful to her.

Charles had been looking at Shadowcat frisking about in her paddock, all traces of exhaustion from her morning's ordeal gone. "Andrew, you have been telling me that having care of the mares and foals were a burden, after all the rest of the things you have to be responsible for around the stables," he said. "Jubilee, would you like to take over their management? It will ease the load on Andrew's shoulders."

"I'd love that," Jubilee beamed.

Charles nodded. "That is settled, then. Andrew, you may henceforth confine your attentions to the stallions and geldings; Jubilee will take the mares and foals up to one year. Jubilee, I shall start you off on fifty cents a week. The free papers cost five dollars. How much would you prefer to have taken out?"

Jubilee did some quick mental figuring. "All of it," she said firmly. "Until the debt is paid off, all of it. I shall start collecting wages in ten weeks."

"That's settled then," Charles said. "I shall leave you here, then. I must go back to the house; but I trust Remy and Andrew will show you around and explain your new duties. Adieu." He went back to Excalibur, mounted easily, and started traveling back up the road.

Remy kept his arm slung over Jubilee's shoulder as Andrew took them around the mares and foals' stable, showing her where all the tack and feed were kept. "You'll have four stable hands to do the everyday work of feeding and currying the horses, cleaning out the stalls and the stable. However, checking the horses' shoes, keeping an eye on the pregnant mares, making sure the horse doctor comes for the sick ones, and caring for any injuries is your responsibility. I train the foals to bridle and saddle; all you have to worry about is tending to the health of the others."

Jubilee nodded and disappeared into the stable, going down the rows and acquainting herself with each horse. Andrew waited outside with Remy. After a moment of watching, Andrew said, "Master Remy, she's not really a slave is she? Her skin's not dark."

"Eh, she a slave all right," Remy said grimly, his face darkening. "She was branded as a body slave by her first master when he foun' her in a camp dat was raided by Indians. She was de only one lef'. Her master had her working on de railroad until her papa buy her from the railroad master, but de man couldn't leave her alone. He catch her one day off de property wit'out a pass, and whip her bad. Her Papa sent her wit' me to be freed."

Andrew went quiet, but his mind was whirling. A body slave. His lips curved in a smile that had nothing to do with the frisky little foal cavorting around Jubilee in his dam's stall. Ten weeks till she was free, but in the meantime, she was still a slave and he could order her about as he wished. Yes, that would suit him well. He was a freeman; she would have to obey him—or, he mused—he could tell her that if she didn't obey him he would tell them she was unsatisfactory and they might decide she wasn't worthy of freedom. Charles wouldn't do that, he knew that; but _she_ didn't know that. He'd done it with plenty of the serving maids in the big house; this one would be just one more. He'd always wanted to have a pale-skinned girl, but a white girl was out of the question; although he was a free man, there were still some lines he couldn't cross, and whites and blacks, even here in Canada, was frowned on.

"What time should I come here every morning?" Jubilee said, finishing her inspection of the mares and foals and coming back up to the two men.

"We have quarters for stablehands over there," Andrew said, pointing to a long, low building some distance away. "I'll have room made in the women's--"

"_Non_," Remy said. 'She sleep up at de big house wit' me." He kissed the top of her head.

Andrew's heart almost stopped. She was Remy's slave. He sucked in a breath. So despite what they said about her being free, she was still a body slave to Remy. And what other man up in the big house might be using her? He grinned. No reason why she shouldn't serve the free men down here in the stables too. "Report here each morning, around nine," he said. "That'll be just in time for the morning feed, before the mares are turned out into the pasture. Then you can go back up to the big house around five o'clock, in time for dinner up there."

"I can do that," Jubilee said cheerfully. "Should I start now?"

"_Non_," Remy said, steering her over to Betsy and mounting Rogue. "In de meantime, we have to get de doctor to look at you, make sure you healt'y, and get papers for. Den you can come back dis evening."

Jubilee grumbled, but mounted Betsy and followed him out of the stableyard.

Remy left her in her room with Henry, and went whistling downstairs to raid the kitchen. He was passing Charles's open study door when Charles called, "Remy, stop in here a moment, I would like a word with you."

Remy sauntered into the study. "_Oui_?"

Charles looked pensive. "Sit down." When Remy sat, Charles leaned forward over his desk, hands folded pensively under his chin. "Remy, have you explained to Jubilee why her father sent her away?"

"_Non_," Remy said. "Charles, she was whipped real bad right before we lef' Took her t'ree weeks to recover from de whipping, de rape, an' de fractured rib. Logan was terrified if she stayed it would happen again. So he tol' me to take her, signed de paper giving her to me, and den pretended to get mad at her so she would t'ink she wasn' welcome anymore an' wouldn' try to come back after she got her papers. If she come back, de firs' person who recognize her goin' to ask for her papers. De papers don' mean not'ing to dem down dere, Charles. Dey rip dem up and sell her on de block as soon as dey see her brand."

"We can obliterate that brand, Remy, the same as we did for you. Then she can go home without having to worry about being enslaved again."

Remy shook his head stoutly. "Logan tell me not to. It too much pain for a little t'ing like her. Besides..." and a little note of petulance crept into his voice, "I love her. I want to marry her. I want her to stay here wit' me. If dat brand gone, she goin' to feel like she have to go home, to be wit' her beloved papa, an' I goin' to lose her. I love her, Charles. She can't go. I don' know what I do wit'out her."

Charles shook his head. "Remy, you are being selfish. You're only thinking of yourself here. What about her? Thinking that her father doesn't love her is breaking her heart. If she really loves him, shouldn't she have the choice of going back? Love must live free, Remy. Do you want to look into her eyes, years from now, and see regret there because she never went back? Do you want her to cry inside the rest of her life because she thinks the one person she loved most in the world hates her? Would that be fair to her?"

Remy squirmed. "_Non_."

"Would you rather that she come to you with her heart free, of her own choice? Because what you're doing, Remy, will keep her as chained to you as if she were still a slave. If you are going to do that, then I may as well not get papers for her at all." Charles dug around in a drawer, and brought out a sheet of paper. "I need your signature on this application to free her. If you're going to give her a choice, please sign it. If you're not, don't pick up the pen."

Remy sat there for long moments, staring at the paper. He loved her. Wanted her to stay with him so badly he could almost taste it. He wanted her to marry him, wanted to feel her sleeping beside him every night, wake up to her cheerful face every day. He'd been a slave once, he'd had everything he wanted, everything he loved, taken away from him time and again by the masters who'd sold him from on place to another. His mother had been taken away from him; the horse he'd loved on his third master's farm had been sold away. He'd never been allowed to keep the things he loved, the people he cared for. Until her. Now he had a woman he loved sleeping in the room beside his, and soon she would be sleeping in the bed beside him. He didn't want to let her go.

But what Charles said made sense. What he was doing was a kind of slavery, in itself. Slavery took away a person's right to choose where they went, what they had, who they loved, what they thought, how they felt, the way they acted. And deep in his heart he knew it wasn't right. He knew he shouldn't keep her here out of constraint; she should stay with him out of love. He just wasn't sure that love for him would keep her here.

But Jubilee was at the point in her life where she needed a lover, a husband, more than she needed a father. Could he make her love him enough that, even if she went to see her father, she would come back to him? That was a challenge, a gamble. And Remy had always been a gambler. His bed skills drove her wild; she loved it, and begged him for it almost every night while they were on the trail. Could his love for her, and his skills, be enough to keep her with him?

He'd always been a gambler.

He picked up the pen and signed his name in the appropriate blank.


	35. Andrew

Chapter 35:

Jubilee showed up in the stableyard at nine o'clock the next morning.

She did her duties first, stepping into all the stalls, carrying the feed buckets along with the ret of the stablehands. They watched her carefully, wanting to see what the new overseer would be like. Knowing that, she made an extra effort to be friendly and leave a good first impression.

When she was done with her initial inspection, and led a couple of the horses out to the paddock, her next visit was to Shadowcat. She went directly into the barn and got her hot potato ready, then went through the process of tying it on her arm before she went to Shadowcat's stall.

The filly snorted when Jubilee came in, and sidestepped quickly, but as Jubilee reached out to her and patted her soothingly, the filly calmed. "Hey," Jubilee said to her. "You're a really pretty girl, aren't you? You're just a little high strung, just need a little gentling. Come on, move over so I can brush you down." She slid between the wall and the filly, and began to run the brush over the sleek glossy black hide.

One of the stable lads appeared at the door and Jubilee asked him. 'Did she bite or snap at anybody last night when she was brought in?"

"No'm," the boy said. "She was pretty docile. We couldn't believe it."

Jubilee reached for Shadow's head, careful to move slowly and not startle the horse. A gentle pressure on the horse's chin and upper jaw got the filly's mouth open, and she checked the teeth, surprised at how young Shadow was. "Has Andrew started her breaking to saddle and bridle yet?" she said.

The stable lad gave her a strange look. "You're supposed to do that, Ma'am."

"What?" Jubilee's eyes narrowed. "Andrew told me he would take care of the breaking, and I would take care of everything else to do with the mares and foals."

The boy shrugged, not meeting her eyes. "Sorry, Ma'am. Maybe he just doesn't want you to be overburdened, that's why he's doing the training. But the last mare/foal manager we had took care of the breaking and training. That's why it's such a big job."

Jubilee returned to currying the black filly. "I'll speak to Andrew about it. Thank you…"

"Billy," The boy said.

"Thank you, Billy," she said. The boy nodded and ran off.

Billy slipped into the tack room, where another of the stable hands, John, was mending harnesses and stitching bridle leathers, and sat down, picking up a leather strap. Andrew disliked the stable lads jawing unless their hands were also busy. He wasn't popular among the boys, but he seemed to know what he was doing, and so no one complained.

John was one of the oldest 'boys' in the stable. He was the first slave Scott had bought, and it had been to save his life. He had been a field hand, until a careless step too close to a plow had maimed his right leg. He had almost been bought by a man to work in the mines (mine slaves' lives were short, living underground all the time, and accidents were in no short supply) but he had experience with the horses, they seemed to love him, so Scott had bought him. Because of his leg, he couldn't be really active with the horses, so he took care of the tack while Andrew took care of the horses. Everyone in the stables knew John had Scott's trust, and told Scott everything that went on. The stableboys listened to the gossip around the stables, they told John, and John told Scott whatever he thought was important for Mister Charles to know. Billy wanted to tell John about Jubilee.

"Hey," Billy grunted. John grunted back. It was the old routine they used whenever they wanted to tell John something they thought was important.

"The new mare manager. She supposed to be training the yearlings to be halter broke and saddle trained?"

John didn't look up. "Yep, that's about the right of it," he drawled. "That's the way it usually goes."

"Well, Andrew told the new manager that she wasn't to worry about the foal training, he was going to do it himself."

This time the old man did look up, though his hands never stopped moving. "Maybe he thinks it's best," he said slowly. "She's a little mite of a thing."

"Maybe," Billy said, satisfied. John would think that over, and keep an eye on both Andrew and Jubilee. If there were anything he needed to be concerned about, he would tell Scott. John knew what was trouble, and what was not.

The door opened, and Jubilee came bouncing in. "Hello," she said. "I think the horses are in pretty good shape for right now. Got anything I can do?"

John looked up. "Managers don't usually have nuthin' to do with the tack," he said sharply.

Jubilee shrugged. "I took care of papa's tack back home in Missouri," she said cheerfully. "And I thought, with a place this big, there'd be a lot more tack that needs mending."

John's eyebrows climbed into his hairline, but he handed her a large needle, some thick thread especially for sewing saddle and stirrup leathers, and two leathers. "Start with them there," he said. "Don't usually hold with nobody messing with my tack, but I wanna see if you can put your money where your mouth is." Jubilee settled on a bench and applied herself to the leathers. She chattered with Billy for a while, asking Billy questions about the horses and their temperaments, and although John appeared to be concentrating on his task, Billy could tell he was listening. She finished the stirrup leather, and presented it to him for inspection.

"Nice work, missy," he said grudgingly, inspecting the neat, even stitching. Billy smiled to himself. John only called a woman 'missy' when he was pleased with her, and she'd earned his respect. He called Ororo, in the big house's kitchen missy, and the cook in the stablehands' quarters 'missy', but everyone else, all the silly giggling maids that tended the gardens and house, girls. If John thought Jubilee was a silly girl, he'd have said 'nice work, girl.' "Pick yourself out some of the work over there and keep yourself busy. That boy Andrew don't like idle hands." If John approved of Andrew, he'd have called him mister. But among the stablehands, at least, John's dislike of Andrew was almost legendary. So. John liked Jubilee, and disapproved of Andrew. Billy knew there'd be a lot of people in the bunkhouse who would agree with John.

There was a sudden commotion in the outer barn, and Jubilee sprang to her feet as they heard Andrew swearing. She flung open the door.

Shadowcat was digging in her heels as Andrew tried to drag her into the stable. "Still haven't learned, have you!" Andrew was shouting at her. "Well, I'll get that saddle on you if it's the last thing I do today. I'll tie you in your tall so tight you won't be able to move, and then you'll learn who's boss!"

The filly's coat was wet with a nervous sweat, and her eyes were rolling. Andrew had a twitch tied tight around her lower jaw, yanking her around by main force. Jubilee was outside the tack room in an instant, racing across the barn to Andrew and Shadow, and John closed the tack room door most of the way so he and Billy could hear and not be seen.

"Stop it!" Jubilee called. "Andrew, stop! What are you doing? You're hurting her jaw!" The girl skidded to a stop beside Shadow's head and petted her gently as she loosened the twitch. "There, girl. Yes, I know it hurt. Easy, now, girl. Easy." The filly quieted as she heard the now familiar voice accompany the sudden release from pain.

Andrew snapped, "Girl, stay out of this!"

"My name is Jubilee," she shot back. "And she's my horse, I'll train her to bridle and saddle myself."

"That ain't your responsibility," Andrew snapped. "You look after the babies and mares, I do everything else. You think you own the place after Mister Charles gives you the mares' barn? He just giving you the responsibility to keep you from spending the day under Mister Remy's body!"

Jubilee exploded. "What I do, and who is in my bed, is none of your business, Andrew!" Jubilee snapped. "He gave me this job because I can handle horses better than you can! How long have you been trying to train her to bridle and saddle? A week, maybe two weeks? Longer?" His silence was her only answer. "I'll have her halter broke by this evening, wait and see. Come on, Shadow." She put her hand on the horse's neck, took the rope hanging from the halter, and led the horse outside.

John closed the door, cutting off Andrew's explosion of temper. "Sit down, boy," he said firmly to Billy. "Don't you be goin' out there. No need for you to see what's going on."

No, Billy didn't need to go outside. He stepped up on top of one of the tack benches and watched what was happening out the window. "She's got the tack out," he reported to John excitedly. "She's talking to Shadow…now she's taking the halter off…hey, she has carrots in her pocket, she's giving Shadow one…Hah! She sneaked the bit into Shadow's mouth while she was eating the carrot!" John smiled and nodded. The little missy had the right of it. Shadow was a pureblood, high-strung, and needed gentle handling. John had tried to tell Andrew, but the boy didn't want to listen. "The bridle's on, John! She's got the bridle on and Shadow isn't protesting!" Billy was so excited he was jumping up and down, almost upsetting the bench.

"Watch it, boy," John said, sounding pleased. "Don't want to break your fool head, now do you?" But he got up from his bench and joined the boy at the window.

They watched, amazed, as Jubilee got the horse used to the feel of weight on her back by riding her bareback around the training corral a few times. The horse tried to buck, and kick, but with the bridle on Jubilee simply turned her in circles, tighter and tighter, until Shadow finally stopped moving, too dizzy to fight. She didn't protest as Jubilee draped the blanket over her back, and only crow-hopped a little when she put the saddle on. When she finally realized that the saddle wasn't hurting her, and Jubilee didn't hurt her either, she calmed. By the time the sun started to set, every stable hand was watching and applauding as Jubilee took Shadow through a walk, trot, canter, and gallop. Everyone except Andrew, of course.

She took Shadow into the barn, put her in her stall with feed and water, then calmly began bringing the mares in from the paddock.

Andrew waited, lagging behind the stablehands, doing some unnecessary checking of the stallions in the big stable, while he waited for the girl to get done in the mares' barn. When the yard was finally empty, the hands having gone in to supper, and he was sure they were alone, he strode into the mare's barn.

The girl was with her filly, talking soothingly as she rubbed the sleek black coat with the currycomb as she talked. Tired from the events of the day, Shadow stood in the middle of the stall, her eyes half-closed, chewing on her hay contentedly as she felt those smooth even strokes get all her itchy spots. She woke completely when she saw Andrew over her stall door, and laid back her ears. Jubilee hushed her.

"I want to speak to you, girl," Andrew said coolly. "Come out here."

Jubilee slipped out of the stall, and Andrew headed for the feed room, beside the tack room. She followed him, and stepped in as he closed he door.

"You're supposed to leave the training to me," he snapped.

Jubilee put her hands on her hips. "Really? From what I hear, taking care of the yearlings means training them to saddle and bridle too."

Andrew said, "Who'd you hear that from?"

Jubilee's eyes narrowed. "No one in particular. Who I talk to is no business of yours. You do your job, and let me do mine. And since my job is also to train the yearlings, I'll take care of that. You worry about the stallions and geldings."

Andrew took two quick steps to her and grabbed the braid that hung down her back. "Don't speak to me as if you were a free woman, girl," he hissed angrily. "You're a slave until them papers come in, and I'm a free man. I can still order you to do anything. Got me?"

Jubilee's face went red, then white. She had become used to her freedom here after a few days, and had forgotten she was still a slave. "Yes, Master Andrew," she said sullenly. "Then may I have your _permission_ to go, _Master_ Andrew?" Her tone was sarcastic.

"Fix your tone!" he snapped. "I won't have an attitude in my stables. Do you want me to tell Master Charles that you're rude and disobedient? He'll take you out of the barns, or he might order me to give you a whipping to fix that attitude." Charles never used whips on the slaves; but he was pretty sure she hadn't been here long enough to know that.

Jubilee's face went white. A whipping? No, she didn't want that. "I'm sorry, Master Andrew," she said slowly, sinking to the floor in the kneeling position a slave offered a Master. "Forgive my insolence."

"Get up," he said harshly, picking up a riding crop someone had discarded on the floor. "Turn around and pull your skirt up to your waist, then pull your pantaloons up to your thigh." Jubilee did as she was instructed.

Andrew raised the crop and lashed it across the back of her knees. She gasped in pain, tears springing to her eyes, but stayed where she was. She stayed in place as Andrew left four more welts there.

He put the crop down and reached out to touch the welts on that pale skin. He'd never seen white flesh marked like this, and it was an enticing sight. He remembered his first owner's wife whipping one of her maids like this, and wondered what those welts would look like on white skin. "Drop your skirt," he said. "I won't mention your rudeness to Mister Charles if you don't," he said.

Jubilee understood. She wasn't to tell anyone about this, and he would not mention it to anyone. She felt a surge of relief. Her pantaloons and petticoats would hide the welts until they faded, and if she was careful, Remy would never know. She loved him, and she loved it here; she had seen the easy friendship he had with Mister Charles and the others, and didn't want to ruin that by making Charles send her away.

Even if it meant that she would have to submit to Andrew's touch on her legs. She suppressed a shudder of loathing and hurried up the road to the house.

John waited until he heard the sound of footsteps leave the barn before he left the tack room. He picked up the discarded riding crop and snapped the thin, flexible wooden handle sharply, angrily. He was going to have to seek out Mister Scott tomorrow and tell him what was happening. He knew of Andrew's high-handed attitude with the other girls, some of them newly arrived slaves who didn't have papers yet.

He hadn't interfered because it wasn't his problem, but this, if it kept on, would ruin the peace of the stables. The tension would mount, and that would affect the horses and the work.

That _was_ his problem.


	36. Discussions

Chapter 36:

Jean smiled as she watched Bobby trying to drag her reluctant mare around the side of the house toward the front door, where she and Scott were waiting. "See, I told you Angel doesn't like riding either," she told Scott smugly. "Please, instead of riding, could we go out in the carriage instead?"

Scott grinned down at her and shook his head. "You need the fresh air," he said. "And Angel's been sitting out in the back paddock for almost a week now. She needs the exercise." Jean pouted. He leaned over and planted a kiss on her lips.

Bobby gave Angel's reins a last yank, pulling the unwilling horse up to the steps. "I don't know what's wrong with her, Jean!" he exclaimed, his little face puffy with exertion. "She's not usually this stubborn!"

Jean ruffled Bobby's hair. "I'm sorry she's not behaving for you," she said. She brandished her riding crop in the horse's face. 'Now come on, you're supposed to behave for Bobby!" The horse swished her tail irritably and shifted her weight to her other hind foot.

"Hey, Jean, hold it," Scott said slowly. His eyes fixed intently on Angel's middle, he walked around to the front of the horse, and squinted. Was that a slight, barely-noticeable bulge in her sides? He reached out to her flank when he got close to her hindquarters, and instead of the usual soft organs, he felt a small lump, a hardness, in Angel's belly. His eyes widened, and he stood, scratching his head. "Well, looks like you're not going to be doing any riding on her for a while," he said. "Angel's pregnant."

"She's what?" Jean yelped. "She's pregnant? How? I thought all the male horses in the riding stables were gelded."

"Except that devil horse Remy rides," Scott reminded her grumpily. "He's the only possible suspect. Guess we'll forestall the riding today, Jean. You're reprieved. Bobby, let's take the horses back to the stables and get them untacked, and then I want to take Angel down to the breeding stable and pick out another mare for Jean. She's not going to get over her fear of horses if she does nothing but avoid them."

"Yes sir," Bobby said, taking Scott's horse's reins and leading him off. Scott took Angel's reins, and together they got the horses back to the riding stables.

Scott led Angel into the mares' barn. "Hey!" he called. It seemed deserted, no one was there, but a grizzled, gray head poked out of the tack room. "Mister Scott, sir!" John got up off the tack bench quickly and came out to meet him. "What be wrong with Missy Jean's horse now, then?"

Scott grinned at the older man. "Remy's devil horse got Angel in foal," he said cheerily. 'I figured I'd bring Angel to the breeding stables and take a look at what else we might have that's suitable for Jean to ride." He looked around the stable. "Where's the new mare and yearling manager?"

John looked grave as he took Angel's halter rope from Scott. 'I was going to head for the big house to talk to you about that, sir," he said. "Walk with me while I turn Angel out in the breeding pasture, if you will?"

"Certainly," Scott said. As the two men started for the pasture, Scott said worriedly, 'Charles and Remy both have a lot of confidence in her ability to handle the horses. Was that confidence misplaced?"

John threw back his head and roared with laughter. "Misplaced? I'd say not! That boy Andrew's been trying to train the black filly to bridle and saddle for weeks, and hain't managed the trick yet! Then little Missy Jubilee come in yesterday, and by sunset she had the filly walking, trotting, and galloping on command in full tack!" He chuckled once, and subsided. "There you go," he said, taking the lead rein off the halter and patting the horse. "A few months of rest for you while that there baby gets big." Looking considerably happier, Angel trotted off into the paddock to join the other broodmares.

"So what is the problem?" Scott asked as the mare started to graze.

"Andrew's the problem," John said, all levity gone from his voice. "He plays the little lord with the maids and the other girl hands, but it ain't usually my problem. This time, though, he's getting heavy-handed with Missy Jubilee, and I don't like that. He give her a switching last night."

"WHAT!" Several of the mares shied sideways in the paddock as Scott's enraged yell drifted downwind to them. He lowered his voice as several of the stable hands turned to look at him. "He did what?"

"Andrew told Missy Jubilee he was a freeman, and she was still a slave till her papers come in, and she should fix her attitude before Master Charles has her whipped. She got angry with him and sassed him back, and he took a riding crop and switched her legs like some naughty schoolgirl. Then he told her not to tell anyone. Said he'll let her attitude go this time with just his correction, but if she does it again he'll have Master Charles order her whipping."

"We don't whip the former slaves here, and Andrew knows that," Scott snapped angrily. "She was free as soon as she crossed the border with Remy, and he knows that too. Just because she doesn't have papers yet doesn't mean she's still a slave."

"Andrew knows that, for sure," John said amiably. "But Missy Jubilee hasn't been here long enough to know that."

"She did seem a little quiet at the dinner table last night," Scott said thoughtfully. "Why didn't she tell one of us what happened, or tell Remy?"

"Because if she tells anyone they'll know she done something wrong, and when you're a slave, the free man's word is always taken for truth. She can say she was just minding her own business, but if we was back in the states, and a Master found out that she'd received a switching from a free overseer, he'd order her a whipping to enforce her belief that what she did was wrong. Missy Jubilee terrified of whips, I could hear it in her voice and see it in her eyes."

Scott shook his head grimly. "All right. Thanks for telling me, John. I'll talk to Remy, and we'll talk to Jubilee about it. Then Charles and I will decide what to do with Andrew." He studied the mares in the field. "Now, which one would be suitable for Jean to ride?"

"Hello!" came a cheerful call from behind them. Scott and John both turned, and saw Jubilee coming up with Shadowcat on a lead rein behind her. "I took her out for some lunge line training. What's going on?"

Scott put a cheerful smile on his face and told her, "Remy's devil horse got Jean's mare pregnant. I have to find Jean another horse."

Jubilee thought quickly. "Most of the mares we have are in foal already, or nursing. We don't have many available…" She snapped her fingers suddenly. "Betsy."

"Huh?"

"My horse…or rather, the horse Remy bought for me at the New York horse fair. Papa was the one who bred my horse Thunder to one of his mares, and we got Betsy. She's a mare. She's got a smooth gait, she's fast, and she's very smart. She'll know Jean's afraid of her, and she'll do her best not to make that fear worse. She's perfect for Jean."

"But if she was on your papa's ranch, won't you want to keep her?" Scott asked.

Jubilee shook her head firmly. "I'm a slave. Slaves don't own property. She's not my horse, any more than this is my home. Besides," she patted the Arabian filly, "Shadowcat's going to be my preferred mount from now on, till Remy decides he wants me to give her back." She opened the gate to the paddock, oblivious to Scott's sharp-eyed stare, and took the lead rein off the halter. Shadow went flying off across the paddock, and Jubilee gave a piercing whistle.

Scott was still trying to clear his ears of that high-pitched sound when a lovely mare came running in answer to that whistle. She skidded to a stop in front of the fence, nuzzled Jubilee's hand, then her apron pockets. Jubilee laughed. "No carrots today, Betts," she said, running her fingers through the tangled forelock. "Betts, Jean doesn't have a mount because her mare got pregnant. Will you carry Jean?" The horse whuffed, an uncertain sound. Jubilee patted the velvety nose. "She's just like me, but she's scared of horses. You can make her forget that fear, can't you? Sure you can." She rested her forehead against the horse's nose, silently saying goodbye to her favorite mare, and the last link to her Papa, then clipped the lead rein to the halter and took Betsy through the gate.

"Here you go," she said to Scott. "She and Angel are about the same size, maybe a little thinner in girth, but the tack should still fit. If it doesn't, send Bobby down with Jean's tack and I'll replace it with Betsy's tack." She smiled. "Jean told me we're starting the apple picking this afternoon, after dinner. I have some things I have to do here, so I may not be in for dinner, but I will be in the orchard picking with everyone else." She hopped the fence and took off across the field. Scott thought he saw the red tracery of a welt across the back of her leg, but he wasn't sure.

"We need to talk."

Remy frowned as he looked up from the bag he was finally getting around to unpacking. Setting the little paper-wrapped package he'd brought all the way north from Missouri on his dressing-table top, he turned to face Scott. "_Oui, homme_?"

Scott leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms. "It's about Jubilee."

The frown lines between Remy's eyebrows deepened as he said, "What wrong?"

Scott told him, briefly, about what John had told him Andrew had done the previous night. Remy sat on the bed hard, anger clouding his vision. How _dare_ Andrew do that? To his Jubilee, no less? "I'm going to go find that--"

Scott grabbed Remy's sleeve as the other man went past him. "Easy there, brother. Let's find out what actually happened, okay? She said she was coming apple picking with us this afternoon; she should be by soon."

Sure enough, moments later they heard Jubilee's footsteps in the hall. Scott waited until she was almost at Remy's door, then said, 'Jubilee, come here for a minute."

She stuck her head in, and saw Remy and Scott standing there. "What's wrong?" she asked, puzzled.

"Did Andrew give you a switching last night?" Remy said, anger at Andrew making his voice sound harsher than he intended it to. Jubilee dropped her eyes, and fell to her knees.

"I'm sorry, please, please don't tell Charles, he'll have me given a whipping! I just…I didn't agree with something Andrew did, and I told him so, and he pointed out that I'm still a slave until those papers come in and I have to remember that. I'm not a free woman, and I shouldn't behave like one." She dropped her eyes to her hands in her lap, and Remy, unable to stand seeing her mental anguish any longer, pulled her upright to a standing position and hugged her tightly.

"_Chere_," he whispered into her dark hair, "Please, Remy not mad at you. Remy mad at Andrew. He don't have no right to do dat to you. Don' cry, please, darling, don' cry." He went to one knee, reached for the hem of her dress, and pulled it up.

If she had been wearing the frothy petticoats he wouldn't have seen it, but she was still dressed for stable work, and the five red welts on the sensitive skin behind her knees were clear. Remy sucked in a breath. "_Chere_…"

"It's all right. It doesn't hurt," she said quietly. 'They stung right after he hit me, but now I'm okay."

"Listen to me, Jubilee," Scott said, catching her eye. "As soon as you crossed the border with Remy, you were free. It does not matter that you don't have papers to prove it. You're free. You don't need to kneel to anyone. And Charles has never allowed the use of a whip on his property on any person. He doesn't believe in slavery. Andrew had no right to do what he did, no right to say what he did to you. I'll have a talk with Charles about him. I don't like him, John doesn't like him, Charles doesn't like him, but we don't have anyone else qualified to work with the horses. In the meantime, while we decide what to do, ignore him. Do what you need to do with the horses, train the yearlings the way you feel they should be handled, and don't obey any commands from him. If he threatens you, tell one of us. Please?"

She nodded slowly.


	37. Freedom, and a Proposal

**Author's note: I have been blindly posting chapters and been a little mystified by the reviews I was getting. Last night I realized why. Due to a computer glitch, I lost the rewritten, cleaned-up, toned down version of this story. The version you are reading now is the original draft, not the rewritten version which was meant to be posted on This was originally written for another site that offers grittier fare for a more mature audience. I will continue to post the original version since some people are still reading it…but after it's all done I'm going to go back, remove all the chapters posted before the glitch and then repost it with the rewritten content. My sincerest apologies to anyone who might have been offended by any of the content here, and my apologies to the site managers. If you have any comments, complaints, criticisms, etc, please feel free to email me at Thank you, and again, my apologies!—Jae**

Chapter 37:

"You ready?"

The door to Jubilee's room popped open, and Jubilee stepped out, dressed in the trousers and shirt Remy had found for her. "I'm ready," she said, looking down at her legs. "Wow, it feels really different wearing men's trousers than a dress. More like the Indian clothing I wore at home…I mean, back in Missouri," she amended. "I wish I could wear pants all the time."

Remy was having a little trouble breathing. "Remy glad you don' wear dat all de time," he managed finally.

"Why?" she cocked her head curiously.

For answer Remy took her shoulders firmly, steered her back into her room, and kicked the door closed behind him as he planted his lips firmly against hers. "Dem pants show off your legs," he said huskily into her ear. "Remy love dose legs. De pants make you look very desirable." And he proceeded to show her how much he loved her legs, and how desirable he found her.

Much later, Jubilee lay on the bed, snuggled against his side. Her fingers traced the long white line across his broad chest. A tear filled her eye as she said softly, "This one looks nasty."

He looked down at the line. "_Oui_. It look better now den it look when Remy firs' get it, t'ough."

"What happened?"

His voice was soft. "Remy _maman_ did somet'ing to piss de Master off. He tie her down, grab de whip, beat her. She pass out, he still beatin' on her. I t'row myself on top of her to make him stop, so I get beaten too. Master strip me an' whip me right beside her. When I wake up finally, he say he like de way I move, de way I look, an' he had me branded as a bed slave while I was passed out." He swallowed. "Maman died."

"I'm sorry," she said gently.

"Me too. It done an' over wit', chere. Don' worry 'bout it." His hands carefully traced the branded S on the soft skin just under her navel. "Dis hurt when it go on, didn' it? Remy was unconscious when his got done."

"Yes." Jubilee shuddered. "Oh, God, it hurt. I didn't know what the Railmaster was going to do. When he picked me up from the indentured servants' camp, He just told me to go back with the slaves. They didn't touch me then; they didn't know if I was going to become his servant or if I was going to become a slave. When the train stopped at Jonesboro, he got me off and took me to the smith's shop. He had the iron already. He gave it to the smith and told the man to brand, collar, and chain me." Her eyes were glazed with remembered pain. "I screamed. I didn't want to be a slave, I'd been born free. I turned and tried to run away. He caught me easily and pushed me back into the smith's shop, and told the man to collar and shackle me first, because that would make it easier to restrain me while I was branded. So the smith grabbed a band of iron, hinged in the middle, and snapped it around my neck, and then followed it with the shackles on my arms. As soon as I heard the lock click on my ankle shackle, I knew my life was over.

"The smith had the brand heating up while he was fitting me with the shackles, and the Railmaster tethered my chains to the ring in the wall that horses were usually tied to. They stripped me nude, and the Railmaster grabbed my hips from behind and held me still while the smith pressed the brand against my skin. I screamed, I struggled, I fought, but they didn't let me go until it was done. The smith smeared some kind of smelly animal salve on it, and the Railmaster threw me a shirt like the ones the male slaves wore. It was long enough to cover me all the way to my knees, thank God. Then he dragged me out and took me to the pump, explained that I should carry water to the men when they wanted it, and that was my job.

"That night I understood what being a slave meant. He dragged me into the slaves' boxcar after the evening meal, locked my chain to a bolt in the floor of the boxcar, and took my shirt off. I sat there naked while he looked me over, and then he told the other slaves, 'Don't scar her.' And then he closed the door. The descended on me, and the pain was horrible. I'd never been touched like that before." She swallowed. "Some of the slaves were like Andrew. They'd been beaten down so many times they wanted to feel a sense of control over someone of lower rank, someone more helpless, and they picked me. They'd hit me after they were done with my body, slapping me and punching me. The Railmaster saw me leave the boxcar every morning with bruises on my body, cuts and scrapes all over, but he never said a word. He'd tell me to stand still, and he'd look me over, open my mouth or feel inside my body, but after that, he'd throw my shirt at me and tell me to get to work."

Remy hugged her to him as her words trailed off into soft sobs of remembered anguish. "It all over now, chere," he said gently. "Don' t'ink 'bout it no more. All dat behind you. You wit' me now, you safe, an' nobody goin' to hurt you now wit'out goin' t'rough me first."

Jubilee looked up at him. "You mean it? Did Scott mean what he said when he told me to tell you or him when Andrew tries to hit me again?"

Remy nodded emphatically. "We mean it," he said. "John told Scott dat Andrew do de same t'ing wit' de female hands too, an' Scott wasn't so happy wit' dat news. I t'ink he downstairs now talking to Charles about firing him. Dat's why he told me to fin' pants and shirt for you to wear while working. I t'ink, since you so good wit' de horses, he want to get rid of Andrew an' have you take over all de stables."

Jubilee shot upright in bed. "That's too much! My God, Remy, that's a lot of work! And won't the other hands have a problem with someone so young telling them what to do?"

"John tol' Scott most of dem not goin' to object," Remy told her. "Dey don' like Andrew anyway."

Jubilee looked anguished. "I wish Papa were here. He could work for Charles, take over with the mares and yearlings, and I could work with the stallions and geldings."

Remy sighed. "He anot'er whole world away, Jubilee," he said quietly. "He not here."

There was a gentle tap on the door, and they heard Charles say, "Jubilee? Are you in there?"

"I'm in here," Jubilee called out, scrambling out of bed and grabbing for the discarded pants and shirt. "Please, just a moment, I'm not fit to be seen." Remy too scrambled into his clothes, and Jubilee waited until he too was decently covered before she opened her room door.

Charles stood outside with a sheaf of papers in his hand. If he was surprised to see Remy pulling on his shirt while standing next to a rumpled bed, he didn't say anything. Instead he extended the papers to Jubilee. "Here you are, my dear," he said, smiling at her. She took them, puzzled at the smile, and began to read. Halfway down the page she paused, her eyes flying up to Charles' face, and his smile grew broader as he nodded. She squealed, putting the papers down carefully on the bed before flinging herself at him and enveloping him in a huge bear hug. Then she flew around the bed and did the same to Remy, the sole difference being, when she released him from the hug she planted an enthusiastic, passionate kiss on his lips with all the love in her being. "I'm free," she finally breathed when she broke off the kiss. 'I'm free! Finally, finally free!" and she threw back her head an laughed aloud in sheer happiness.

Remy glided out of the room, returning a short time later with something in his hand. "Since you a free woman now," he said, 'I have a question for you. Jubilee," and he went down on one knee in front of her, 'Will you marry me?" He opened his hand, and on it lay a small gold circle.

Jubilee reached out with trembling hands, touching the gold circlet gently. "My God, Remy!" She exclaimed when she realized it was real gold. "I've never had anything so expensive!"

Remy bit his lip. Here he was, offering to marry her, and all she could see was the ring. "Please, chere?" he whispered. His heart pounded in his chest; what if she said no? He'd die if she said no.

Jubilee tore her eyes from the thing circle of gold, and saw his upturned face. There was such a mixture of emotions in his eyes; fear that she would say no, panic that maybe it was too soon to ask, worry that maybe she didn't love him as much as he thought she did, and above all, hope that she would say yes.

Jubilee put the ring down on the bed on top of the papers and drew his face up to hers for another long, passionate kiss, answering that hope, that love, with the only answer she could possibly give him. "Yes," she finally whispered into his lips. "Yes, I'll marry you."

Remy whooped as he swept her up in his arms.

The news was met with similar happiness by the others in the orchard when Remy and Jubilee finally went down for the annual apple picking. "Congratulations!" Jean screeched effusively, and Ororo displayed her approval much more quietly but with no less enthusiasm by pouring out glasses of apple wine and handing them around. Everyone toasted the couple with raised glasses, and then the apple picking began in earnest.

Jean and Ororo, wearing their dresses, were obliged to remain earthbound; Scott and Henry climbed the gnarled trunks of the old apple trees and picked, tossing the apples down to the women waiting below. Jubilee, unhampered by skirts since she was still wearing pants, scaled the trees, laughing excitedly, and picked apples, tossing them down to Remy.

"Hey, no fair!" Bobby yelled indignantly from the next tree over, watching as Jubilee's slight weight allowed her to go out on limbs the others wouldn't dare go out on. "You can go farther than the rest of us can!" Ororo had promised a whole apple pie to the team who brought in the most apples, and there were heaps of empty bushel baskets under each tree. The other field hands were picking just as excitedly.

Jubilee stopped, way out on a limb that was bending dangerously low out over the ground, and stuck her tongue out at him. Remy laughed aloud at their childish antics, and forgot to hold the end of the branch Jubilee had asked him to pull on so she could shimmy far out on it. The branch sprang back, and Jubilee shouted with surprise as she slid backward down off the limb, hit the crotch of the tree with a bump, then fell out of it. Remy, alarmed, went running to her, but she was sitting up and laughing by the time he reached her. "Nothing wounded but my tailbone," she said, laughing. Then she looked down at her foot, Her shoe, worn from traveling (she didn't wear the new ones while working) had finally broken, and the sole had just separated from the upper. "Oh, bother!" she grouched as she surveyed the shoe.

Remy was laughing so hard he had to sit down. "Jubilee," he said finally, gasping and holding his sides, "If you go up to my room I have de old travel pack dere wit' some of your t'ings. Your moccasins are in dere; I t'ink you want dem."

"My moccasins!" Jubilee bounced upright. "They'll be better for climbing trees than these old shoes. I'll be right back!"

Remy's room was cool after the warmth of the sunny afternoon outside. Jubilee walked in and stood for a moment. She'd never been in here before. No wonder he asked her to marry him! He needed her. Clothes were strewn all over the room, all over the bed, chairs, tables, and drifted in piles on the floor. Just like Papa. She'd had to keep the cabin neat for Papa too. She dug the old, worn travel pack out from under the bed, found her moccasins in it, and slipped them on. She fingered the strand of glass beads, the lovingly carved wolf head hanging from the string, and felt her eyes sting with tears. Putting the pack back under the bed, she turned and tripped over a shoe lying discarded on the floor. As she grabbed the dresser to keep her balance, a small paper-wrapped package tumbled from the dresser top and fell to the floor.

She reached down to pick it up, and the tattered, worn paper wrapping fell apart under the twine. She stared at the small carved horse in her hand, and her happiness vanished, to be replaced by tears. It was Thunder, her beloved horse, and the carving was so well done she knew it was Papa's work. She reached for the paper to wrap the little wooden horse in, assuming he'd given it to Remy for taking her away.

Then she saw the writing on the paper. "To my darling Jubilee, from your Papa…" and here the words disappeared in the creases on the paper. "…I love you. Logan."

She stared at the paper. Her father loved her. He loved her! But…all the things he'd said, the way he tossed her out…He must have thought it was the only way for her to get her freedom.

She sat down hard on the floor, tears running unchecked down her face, and hugged the delicate wooden horse. Its carved flying mane dug into her cheek, but she ignored it as she sobbed out, in anguish. "Oh, Papa, Papa, you did love me, why didn't you tell me, Oh, Papa, I love you, I miss you so much!" A wave of homesickness washed over her, and she began to cry miserably.

Some time later a hand touched her shoulder gently. She lifted her streaming eyes, and saw Remy looking down at her, his eyes full of sadness and sorrow. Too miserable to speak, she flung herself into his arms and sobbed. "Papa loved me, he loved me all the time, he really did, but I don't know why he couldn't tell me, why did he have to hurt me like that?"

Remy sat on the floor beside her, ignoring the piles of scattered clothing, and hugged her. "He wanted you to be free," he said softly, feeling his throat close in anguish for her mental pain, and in fear. He hadn't meant for her to see the little horse yet. He had planned on waiting until her attachment to the place was firm enough that she wouldn't want to leave. Would she want to leave him now that she knew? "You couldn' be free living wit' him. He knew dat, after he foun' out about de soldiers. I tol' him." She stared up at him, but Remy avoided her shocked look. He might as well get it all out now. "It was an accident. It slipped out after we brought you home from de place dat Walbrook raped and tortured you. I didn' know he didn' know."

He looked at her pleadingly. "Don' be mad at him, chere. He knew dat if you stayed dere longer, sooner or later somet'ing goin' to happen dat you couldn' recover from or he couldn' protect you from, and he couldn' stan' to see you hurt like dat. He said he rat'er hurt you by driving you away den see you die slowly because too many people using your body against your will. Dat why he send you wit' me. He tol' me to treat you right, marry you, give you dem babies you want, an' make you happy. He said he'd rather know you happy and free den wit' him and still a slave. And he afraid if he just tell you to go, when you get back someone goin' to see dat brand and chain you up and make you a slave again, dat's why he broke your heart when you leave so you wouldn' want to return."

"He loved me enough to send me away, knowing he'd probably never see me again," Jubilee whispered, shocked at the thought of how much those last words had been for him. Yes, they'd been hard on her too, but it must have been so much harder on him. "Remy, I have to go back."

"Chere," Remy started, weakly, but she placed a gentle finger against his lips.

"Listen. I have to go back. I love him. Remy, he saved my life. I can't leave him alone. Long ago, you said they have ways of wiping out the brand so nobody can make me a slave again. How is that done?"

"Non," chere," Remy insisted. "Not for you. De way we do it is to put a piece of hot metal against de skin and rip de first layer of skin off, an' take de brand wit' it. Remy have dat done to him. It hurt like hell. Not going to do dat to you."

"I'm a free woman, Remy. I have a choice. Don't I?" his silence was answer enough. "I'm going to talk to Henry." She got up and started for the door, then paused, turned, ran to him quickly, and kissed him quickly, bruising his lips, and then turned and ran out the door. Remy stared at the empty doorway, at the tattered pieces of paper in his hand, then crumpled them angrily in his hand, threw it across the room, and flung himself down on his bed, burying his face in the pillow so no one would hear him cry.


	38. Proposition

Chapter 38:

Jubilee lay almost nude on the bale of hay. A narrow strip of cloth covered her breasts, and a sheet was draped over her lower hips. The brand was just visible on the flat, concave curve of her stomach above the edge of the sheet.

Jean finished tying the second sheet, looped and twisted in a rope, to a ring in the stable wall, and Jubilee reached up to grasp the lengths of cloth, slipping her wrists in the loops and winding the slack around both her forearms, gripping the knots with her fists. Remy knelt on the hay beside her, worried. "Chere, please, are you sure dis is what you want?"

"Yes," Jubilee said, nodding to Henry as Jean finished preparing and opened the door to let him in. "I have to do this. I want to do this. I hate that brand, Remy. Every time I see it, it reminds me of what I am. I don't want that reminder, Remy."

The small charcoal brazier by the far wall was heating the small, flat piece of metal on the end of the rod. Henry went to it, pulling the tip out of the fire and studying it. "Almost," he said, replacing the iron. 'My dear, are you quite sure? It will hurt terribly."

"I'm sure," Jubilee said, swallowing hard at the sight of the iron, scared but determined to be brave. "I have to, I have to see Papa again, to tell him I understand and I know why he did what he did. And I want the S gone. I'm sure."

Hank lifted the brand out, and looked at its tip, which glowed a dull orange. He nodded grimly and Jean slipped a leather-wrapped wooden bit between Jubilee's teeth. "Bite down on this," she whispered, her own face white and taut. "It will help." Then she fled the stable.

"She can't stand this," Remy said, white-faced and tight-lipped. "She helps prepare, and she cares for the hands after the brand's removed, but she can't stand to watch. I don't know if I can stay, chere. I hate seeing you in pain."

Jubilee looked at him, her blue eyes full of determination. "I have to do this, Remy. For me. You can go, if you like." She didn't allow the fear in her eyes to show as she got the words out around the wood bit in her teeth.

Remy paused, torn between staying and helping her bear her pain or leaving so he wouldn't hear her scream. He wasn't sure he could bear seeing her in agony. Hank took the iron in his hand, holding it just over her brand, and Remy stared at it. He gritted his teeth and knelt over the top of the hay bale, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. She swallowed hard, her eyes glued to the hot metal, then nodded to Hank. Hank brought the metal into contact with her smooth, pale belly skin.

Jubilee's head went all the way back. Her mouth opened in a scream of agony, and the bit fell out of her mouth. Her arms thrashed and twisted in the sheet holding them captive, but Jean had tied the sheets too well, and Jubilee had known exactly how to wind them around her wrists. When she ran out of breath, she stopped, sucked in a huge breath, and screamed again.

Henry looked a little sick as he smelled the odor of burning flesh fill the barn. He hated this. Hated the necessity of this. As he had done so often, he cursed the institution of slavery that made burning the flesh to rid it of its brand necessary. This time, watching this lovely young woman scream from the horrible agony, he couldn't keep his objectivity. A few tears slipped from his eyes as he pulled the metal away from her flesh after the required ten seconds.

He looked quickly at the skin. The S was gone. He had held the iron a few seconds longer to the girl's skin than he normally did because he had seen how deeply the brand was burned in. he didn't want to risk burning it once, then when it healed finding the brand had not been completely obliterated and having to do this whole horrible operation again. Remy was the first person he'd ever done it to, and he hadn't held the iron to the skin long enough. Henry could still remember the then-fifteen year old boy's screams of agony as the barely-healed flesh was burned a second time. He couldn't do this a second time to the young woman on the hay in front of him. Some men could take it; but women couldn't handle the pain silently. Neither could children. Henry hated having to do this to the children and the women.

He quickly soaked a rag in the waiting bucket of cold water and placed it gently against the seared flesh and the exposed nerves. Jubilee's agonized screams died off into ragged sobs, and Henry, busy tending to the heaving midsection, could faintly hear the soft words in French that Remy was whispering into Jubilee's ear. When the initial fire had worn off and Jubilee had sufficient control over herself that she could unwind her arms from the sheet around her wrists, he dressed the wound with a numbing anesthetic. By the time he was done that, she had herself under control. Although her eyes sparkled with tears and she was still shaking with shock and pain, she was coherent. Henry nodded to Remy and fled the stable as soon as he possibly could.

Their lovemaking was considerably gentler that night; Remy touched her everywhere, awakening the fire in her body and washing away the still-throbbing pain, if only for a short time, with overwhelming pleasure. By the next morning, although her skin still throbbed and stung, the pain was back to a bearable level. She spent a last day out with the horses, and returned early that afternoon to pack. She was passing the door to Xavier's study, trying to figure out the best way to get back to her beloved Papa, when a gentle voice called her in. This time she went into the room with her head high and her step sure. She was free, now, really free, and not even the pain of the burn could keep her spirits from soaring. "Yes, Charles?"

"Sit down, please." Jubilee sank into the padded chair, crossed her ankles, folded her hands, and waited. Charles didn't say anything for a time, just looked at her quietly, and then said, "Are you quite sure you want to do this? Remy loves you, you know. You were supposed to get married."

Jubilee's eyes looked anguished. "I have to, Charles. I know Remy loves me; leaving him here is one of the hardest things I've ever done. But I have to, I miss Papa, and I know he misses me, and I have to tell him that I forgive him for what he said, and I understand why he said it. I never said goodbye. I have to go back."

Charles steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "There is talk that the States will soon be at war," he said, and Jubilee gasped. She hadn't known. "The North wishes to abolish slavery altogether; the south wants to keep slavery as an institution. The war is going to involve every man who has an opinion in the conflict. I don't think even your home will be spared. From what Remy has told me, your father's horses might be taken by the soldiers at the fort for their officers, and your father himself may be drafted."

Jubilee's eyes were wide with horror. She could well imagine her beloved Papa lying on a battlefield somewhere, bleeding, dying, calling for her… "Oh, no," she whimpered.

Xavier leaned forward. "I have a solution I want you to think about on the way back to your home. Andrew is not a competent handler of my horses or my stables, but for right now he is all I have. Since your father taught you everything you know, I feel I can safely assume that your father would be a better choice of stable manager. Therefore, if you wish to bring him back here, feel free to do so."

Jubilee gasped. "You mean…I can bring Papa here, and he and I can manage the stables and I can marry Remy? You'd let Papa live here?"

Xavier smiled. "Of course. Remy is like a son to me, Jubilee. When I first saw him at a slave auction in New Orleans, he was only fourteen years old, had recently watched his mother being beaten to death by his master, and was trying so hard to hide the pain he was still feeling from his own beating when he tried to escape. He still stood straight up on the auction block, as if daring someone to buy him and mistreat him. I couldn't leave him there; I bought him and brought him north with me. My beloved wife, Moira, raised him along with my son Scott, who was the same age.

"When Scott married Jean I found Remy getting drunk after the ceremony. He told me that he wanted the same for himself, a wife, someone who would love him the rest of his life, love him enough to marry him. He had never found anyone who he felt could understand what he'd gone through, who would understand that when he woke screaming in the middle of the night he'd need comforting, not grumbling. It was soon after that that he began to make trips into the States to buy slaves and bring them here to free them.

"About four years ago he came home empty handed and upset. It took a while to understand why. He finally told me one night that he'd fallen in love with a girl who was a slave, but she refused to leave the master she thought of as a father. He was in despair. 'The one woman I have ever loved', he told me. I advised him to go back, to try again. And several weeks ago, he came back with you. These last few weeks he has been happier than I have ever seen him before. The mere mention of your name makes him smile. I want to see him happy, Jubilee, and if you are gone from his life forever that light will go out of his eyes. I also want to see you happy; in the last few weeks I have seen you change from a quiet slave to a beautiful woman. If bringing your father here will make Remy and you happy, then I will do so. And I really do need a competent stable manager."

"I'll try," Jubilee said honestly. "If what you say about the war is true, Papa would rather leave than fight. He doesn't believe in slavery, but he won't fight either. He says fighting's always the last option."

Xavier nodded, and reached into his desk drawer. "Here," he said, handing her a fat envelope. Jubilee opened it, looked inside, and gasped.

"There should be enough in there to pay for your father's trip here, and also to bring any of his stock that might be too valuable to give to soldiers. He may have horses that will raise the value of my own stock. It should also be enough to pay your way to where he is. And there is a train ticket to take you to New York."

Jubilee stared with round eyes at the money and the ticket. "Thank you," she whispered. "But what if Papa doesn't agree to come?"

Xavier frowned. "Consider it a gift, then," he said finally. "But I hope you will do your best to have him come. I think he will be happier here."

"I think so too," Jubilee said quietly. She stood. "I want to pack and get on my way tomorrow morning. If you will excuse me?"

"One more thing," Xavier said as she started for the door. "Please say nothing to Remy about this. I do not want to get his hopes up for your return, and if you do not, he will feel worse."

"I promise. Thank you so much, Charles, you don't know how much this means to me."

She tucked the envelope deep into her traveling bag and packed it with several changes of her clothes, having to think very hard indeed about what she was going to take. The lighter she traveled, the faster she would be able to go. Still, there were things here she would miss; the blue dress Remy loved so much; her dressing gown of scarlet silk and matching nightgown, a gift from Remy. She looked at the circle of gold around her slim finger. Should she keep it, or give it back to him?

She sat for a long time in the darkness of her room, holding the little wooden horse and looking at the ring. The two people she loved most in the world, and she had to decide. Finally, slowly, she made the decision. If Papa wouldn't come with her, she would come back by herself. She loved Remy. Loved him with a passion that surprised even herself. She _wanted_ to marry him, wanted to have his children. And she had come to love all the little luxuries here that they couldn't get at home. Fresh fruit, cheese, bread she didn't have to bake herself, the softest bed she'd ever had…she wouldn't be able to give all that up. She had to come back. "Oh, Papa," she said finally, laying the little wooden horse on top of her pack and stretching out on her bed. "Please come back with me."

And as she went to sleep that night, it was with a prayer on her lips that Logan would come back with her.


	39. Return

Chapter 39:

Logan got up out of his bed and wandered to the cabin door, looking out at the moon, hanging round and full over the far fence of the pasture. He'd woken from another dream of _her_. Her blue eyes had been laughing back at him as she rode Thunder bareback across the prairie toward the creek. Her happy laughter had floated back on the breeze to him. "Race you, Papa!" Dark Star had done his best as Logan urged him after the other horse, but Jubilee and Thunder kept running, farther and farther away, and Logan had tried to call to her to stop, to wait for him, but she had disappeared into the distant horizon, and he had finally reined Dark Star up, staring lost and alone in the middle of a vast dry prairie. He'd dismounted, and suddenly Dark Star had reared and gone racing off after Jubilee, and in moments Logan couldn't see him anymore.

He'd woken, sweating and shaking, his face wet with tears. Jubilee had gone almost a year ago, and a few months afterward, a large wildcat had gotten into the horse pens. Dark Star had twisted his leg in a gopher hole, and was injured, and the cat had killed him. Logan had taken Storm and gone hunting, and the cat was now a skin rug in front of his fire, but it hadn't eased the pain of his loss. In the space of three months, his daughter and his favorite horse had gone.

"Oh, God," he whispered now, tears stinging his eyes. He sat on the doorsill, staring outside at the full moon. "Oh, God, why did I let her go? I need her, I want her here so badly!" He wondered what she was doing now. Had she and the Cajun gotten married yet? Maybe she was pregnant now with her first child, walking around with her belly hugely swollen, paraded around by Remy, grinning hugely at the thought of having a son or daughter. Logan's heart contracted. "Oh, God, please give her back," he whispered, staring with tear-blurred eyes at the dusty ground in front of the step.

A sudden soft sound by his elbow startled him, and he rubbed his eyes and looked. It was Snow. The wolf pushed his head under Logan's arm, lowering his chin so Logan could scratch his ears. Logan reached down and scratched absently, briefly distracted from his musings by the wolf's behavior.

When Jubilee had left, Snow had howled in the barn for days. Every time Logan took him off the rope, Snow would head straight for the gate and pause as if waiting for her to walk through it. She never had. Then he'd taken to disappearing for weeks at a time, and Logan had at first thought that, with Jubilee gone, the wolf had gone back to his wild kin. Not so. The wolf would appear on the step every two weeks or so, to be fed, and then would promptly disappear again. Logan figured the wolf was looking for Jubilee. In vain he tried to tell the wolf that she wasn't coming back.

Six months after Jubilee left, the wolf stopped disappearing. Instead he followed Logan everywhere, exactly the way he'd followed Jubilee around. At night he'd stretch out beside the front gate and sleep there, his ears twitching at every sound.

Until a month ago.

A month ago the wolf had been settling in for the night when he suddenly sat bolt upright, his ears twitching, alert, his tail wagging frantically. He'd stayed that way the entire night. In the morning he'd trotted up t his food bowl and licked his breakfast clean, then begged for more, and more, until Logan thought the wolf would burst, and then went about his daily business as calmly as if nothing were wrong. And now he slept on the wildcat skin rug on the floor beside Logan's bed. Sometimes, when Logan had a bad dream, he'd wake up to see a pair of vivid blue wolf eyes looking at him calmly, almost as if the wolf were trying to calm him down. It was, Logan thought as he scratched behind the other ear, as if the damn wolf knew something he didn't.

Had Snow been able to talk, he would have told Logan his guess was correct. He wouldn't have been able to explain it, but he _felt_ that _she_ was coming back. His mistress was coming back.

He had felt her sadness the last time he had seen her, felt her sorrow when she tied him in the den humans made for the horses. He had felt her presence growing fainter and fainter as she rode somewhere away from the human den which she lived in with the male she called 'Papa'. Snow had gone looking for her after that, always ranging toward the east, and then later toward the northeast, which his instinct told him was where she was. He hadn't gone far though, just as far as he could. The pull was there; he knew she was out there, and he knew he could find her. But something had kept him from going.

When wolfkind migrated, they took all the members of their pack with them. Sometimes though, the pack would send an advance scout, a group of two or three wolves (usually with one female), to prepare a new den for the pups and mother wolves that would follow. Perhaps his mistress had gone on such an excursion, to prepare a new den for her human male and for Snow? Because Snow couldn't see her leaving the human male. The male had accepted her into his den and obeyed her commands, so she was part of the human male's pack. And later, he had accepted Snow into the pack, too. And since the human male hadn't chased her out of the pack, that meant she would return. And so Snow had hung around. Packs also only migrated when there was a danger around that the pack couldn't fight off; hadn't his mistress's encounter with the bad male who took off her human fur and left her bleeding been ample reason for moving? Snow had killed the bad male, but maybe there were more of them that he couldn't kill. He knew the human male who loved his mistress didn't like the other bad males who all had the same blue human fur and carried fire sticks all the time. And lately there had been more and more of them around, and Snow knew they made the human male uneasy.

And then, a month ago, Snow had felt that tugging lessen. His mistress was moving again. He'd been anxious, but then he felt her moving from the northeast to the east, and now he was certain she was coming back. She had found a den, then, and she was coming back to get them. He was satisfied, and started eating heavily. When the pack was on the move, they ate lightly. Eating well before a move would keep sufficient reserves of energy in their bodies to last them however long the trip might be. He wished the human male could understand wolf talk like his mistress could; he would have told him that the mistress was coming back, and he had only to wait. But the male had never been as good at understanding Snow as his mistress was. He understood the basic barks like 'out', 'food', 'danger', and 'follow me', but when it came to understanding a touch, a whine, a tail movement, raised and lowered fur, the human male was hopeless. All Snow could do was lie beside him and show him that there was nothing to worry about, and maybe the human male would calm down.

Logan ruffled the wolf's fur as he stared into the blue eyes, so much like Jubilee's. I want her back," he suddenly cried, burying his face in the wolf's neck fur. "Oh, God, I miss her, I want her back! Give my little girl back to me!"

The wolf whined and licked Logan's face reassuringly.

Logan got out of bed slowly, drained and spent. After one of these nights, his body felt like lead, and it was hard getting up to go about the daily chores. He eyed the basket of eggs. No, he wasn't hungry. He didn't want to eat. Again, as they had done a thousand times since she'd gone, his eyes drifted to the abandoned bread box he'd made her, the butter churn he'd bought, the empty bed in the opposite corner of the room. He hadn't had the heart to get rid of any of the things she'd touched and handled on a daily basis. It was as if, by preserving these things for her, he could preserve her memory, fool himself into thinking she would be coming back.

He missed her. Missed her bread, missed her butter, missed her happy chatter around the house, missed her talking to him at night when he was trying to sleep, something he had grumped and grumbled about but now missed ferociously; he missed her reading books aloud to him in the evenings when he was whittling by the fire and her chores were done. He missed her sniping at him about the careless way he tossed clothes over every available piece of furniture.

The horses missed her too. Thunder had finally begun allowing Logan to ride him, but it was a grudging concession. The mares had been used to her bringing them their feed and water, missed her voice as she talked to them in the corral, missed the long rides across the prairie she'd take them for. Her garden lay neglected in the corner of the cabin's yard; Logan hadn't been able to get the ground to produce the long orange carrots and fat potatoes it used to produce for her. It was as if the ground missed her too.

He went to the well and drew a bucket of water, taking it to the pigpen and dumping it into the trough. He did the same to the cow pen, giving the cow and bull water. Without Jubilee around to make butter, the second cow was wasted, and Logan had sold her to a man in town who had needed another cow. He stared into the chicken yard. To feed both of them, he'd hatched out extra hens, and when she had gone, the extra eggs had not been used,. The hens had sat on them until they hatched. His chicken yard was now crowded with chickens, and the two roosters were fighting constantly. Ordinarily he'd have killed the extra and given them to Running Wolf and Red Doe, but the camp of Indians had moved away, too far away for visits anymore. He hadn't seen them in months now.

The number of soldiers at the fort had multiplied, which was why the Indians had moved. Now a day seldom passed that Logan didn't see a patrol of them riding out to the hills to shoot their own dinner; and the talk they brought of war with them made him distinctly uneasy. War was never a good thing. Logan didn't believe in fighting. If the southern states wanted to make their own country, then why not let them, and avoid all that unnecessary bloodshed? It didn't make sense.

He finished feeding and watering the horses, and went to cut a chunk of deer from the cured carcass in the cellar for Snow The wolf ate like he was starving, and Logan picked at some eggs and flapjacks as he watched the wolf eat.

He was getting up to put the tin plate in the pail of dirty dishes left from yesterday when he hard hoof beats pounding on the ground outside. It sounded like the horse was galloping. He frowned. Who could be running up here this urgently?

Snow heard the hoofbeats, and stiffened. His ears, tail, and head went up for just a second before he shot out of the cabin with a happy bark, racing to the fence. Logan followed the wolf out.

A horse had stopped just outside the gate. Logan had never seen a horse like this one. A mare the color of a starless midnight sky stood outside the gates, and a woman sat on her back. Her blue calico dress was the latest in fashion, and the large floppy hat that perched on top of the head obscured the rider's face but obviously kept the sun off. She dismounted in one smooth, fluid move, and opened the gate. As she went in, leading the black mare by the reins, Snow flung himself at the stranger and began wriggling and barking excitedly, like a puppy all over again. She laughed as he jumped up to lick her face, knocking her hat off in the process, and Logan froze when he heard that laugh and saw that face. She was older, her face now subtly prettier by the application of fancy woman's cosmetics, but it was her. It was his little girl.

"Jub…" his voice trailed off in a croak of shock and surprise. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Jubilee…"

She stood and faced him, her face suddenly uncertain. He looked older than she remembered, and for the first time she stopped to think just how old he was. His face had lines of sadness, lines of anguish, etched in it. But he was still her papa, her beloved Papa, here, and she was with him at last… "Papa," she whispered.

He didn't know who moved first, her or him, but suddenly they were in each other's arms, hugging frantically, and Logan's face was streaming with ears of joy. After all the loneliness, the sadness, the pain of longing, she was back where she belonged, with him, here in his arms, and his prayers to God had been answered. Her voice was sobbing into his ear, "Papa…Papa…Papa…oh, Papa, I love you, I'm here, I'm finally here with you and I forgive all the things you said, I understand, and oh, Papa, I love you…"

"I love ya too, darlin'," he sobbed into her hair. He was crying, and she knew it, but he didn't care. She was here, and she was alive, and God, he loved her so much!


	40. Back Home Again

Chapter 40:

"…and Jean was so nice, and she's so pretty, she's got long red hair down to her waist and the brightest green eyes I'd ever seen. She's married to Scott, and Scott and Remy are like brothers. Charles and his wife raised both of them together after Charles brought Remy north from a slave auction in Louisiana…"

Logan listened with half an ear as he watched her putter around the cabin. His eyes were full of her. Her liveliness lit up the room, and her eyes sparkled with laughter and high spirits.

Desperate to hear her talk, to hear her voice, Logan had asked her to tell him about the places she'd been, and the people she'd been with. It had taken two days of almost nonstop chatter for him to fully understand the feelings behind the torrent of words. While she went around, unpacking her bag and storing her things in the old chest, she'd prattled on happily about the mansion and its inhabitants, leaving Logan to speculate about what she didn't say.

These people living in this place Remy had taken her to were rich. Logan's heart sank in despair when he heard her describe her room, the feather bed she'd slept on, and the size of the property. There were more comforts there than there were here on his little ranch. What did she have here? Rough food she had to cook herself, a lumpy straw mattress; hard work, rough clothing she had to make herself. He saw the dresses she'd unpacked; they were of a material finer than anything she'd ever worn, and the package of white handkerchiefs she'd given him were much better than anything he could buy here in town. She had lived a life of hardship as a slave; so why wouldn't she want to return to the fancy mansion? The people there loved her, and she loved them, to judge from the way she talked. Logan knew deep in his heart that Jubilee hadn't come back to stay. She was going to go back to Canada.

Maybe he could go with her? Logan stared around the cabin that had been his home for fifteen years. He had built it all by himself, had cut every log, hewn every board, driven every nail with his own two hands. It was a strong, sturdily-built cabin. Anyone would buy it in an instant from him. And his horses; due to his selective, careful breeding, his horses were in demand as the finest, fastest horses in Missouri. He could sell every single one of his horses, and added to the sum he had hidden under his floorboards, would be more than enough to get him started in Canada. He could buy a small house somewhere, and Jubilee could come visit when she wanted to; living in the same country as she was would give him the chance to see her more often than if he stayed here.

He had tried living without her already; and he knew he needed her. Needed to see her every once in a while; needed to see her, if only to allay the loneliness in his heart. He'd lived alone before she came; and he'd been, if not happy, at least content. Then she had come, and it was as if she had brought back light that had been missing in his life. When she left, the world had gone dark; he knew he'd die inside if he had to stand there and watch her leave again. Because he knew she was leaving. There was a tiny circle of gold on her finger that hadn't been there when she left, and that plus the way she spoke the Cajun's name, in those soft, caressing tones, told him volumes.

"You an' that Cajun gettin' married, hey?" he said abruptly, interrupting her cheerful chatter.

Jubilee stopped racing around the cabin. She had been avoiding the topic, unsure how to tell him without breaking his heart, and also trying to figure out how to tell him about Charles's offer. Sighing, she went over to the kitchen table, plunked down in the chair, and twisted a strand of her hair as she regarded Logan quietly as she gathered her thoughts. "He asked me to marry him, yes," she finally said.

Logan's heart sank. So he was right. She wasn't going to stay. "I hope ya two are nice an' happy," he said abruptly, getting up.

"Papa, wait, I…" but he was gone, out the door and heading off to the horse corral. She quietly finished unpacking her things, then went outside to find him.

He was talking to a soldier outside, and her heart sank., It was one of the men who had used her so long ago. Well, she was a free woman now. He had no right to touch her. No one could touch her now without her consent. And she had citizenship papers from Canada, so the law couldn't touch her. She smiled brightly as she went over to Logan. "Papa, I'm taking Shadowcat out for a turn on the lunge line."

The soldier stared at her. "Isn't this…" he broke off. 'You, girl!"

Jubilee said, sweetly, "Please don't refer to me as 'girl', sir," she said. "Miss will be fine."

"How dare you tell me what I can or can't do! You're a slave!" The soldier's face flushed with his indignation.

"Actually no, sir," Jubilee said, smiling at him maliciously. "I'm a free woman, sir. I have papers. And I'm also a citizen of Canada, which means you can't order me to do anything. Your laws don't apply to me." She reached into a pocket of her apron and produced the papers.

The soldier stared at them, his face red with anger. But the documents were signed and sealed, and bore the stamp of the Canadian government; there was absolutely no way he could refuse to acknowledge them.

He grunted, finally, in anger, and threw the papers at her, then turned his horse and rode out of the gate. Jubilee quietly closed the gate, locked it, and then leaned against it and laughed. "It'll be all over the fort by tonight," she said. "I may have to produce the papers again for others' edification, but after that I won't have to bother."

Logan grinned at her, a little weakly. "Ya grown a bit since I seen ya last," he said. "Got a lotta confidence, don't ya?"

"Yep!" Jubilee agreed happily, taking his arm. "Papa, I wanted to ask you something before you walked out of the cabin."

'Yeah?" Logan said gruffly, wondering what it was going to be.

She hesitated. "Um…how attached are you to the cabin and the horses and the land?"

Logan stopped walking and turned to face her. "Why do ya ask?"

She shook her head. "I asked you first."

Logan snorted. "I love this place, an' I love the horses. Looks like they ain't gonna be mine much longer, though."

Jubilee sucked in a breath and ran after him as he turned and headed for the paddock. "Papa, why?"

Logan opened his fist and smoothed out the paper he'd crumpled after that damn soldier had given it to him. "Read that," he said.

Jubilee read it quickly, her eyes skimming the fine print. "Oh, Papa!" She gasped. "They're not taking all our horses?!"

"Yeah," Logan growled. "Every single one of them. They said with the war breakin' out every spare horse's gettin' bought by the army as spare mounts fer them soldiers. They comin' next week ta take the horses."

"But…Papa…Thunder…"

"They says they leavin' ridin' horses for you and me, but everythin' else's goin' with them. I tell ya somethin', Jubilee, I don't know what I'm gonna do. All I know how to do is handle horses and fire a gun. Maybe I'll go join the damn army too. Ain't nothin' else ta do roun' here."

"Papa, no!" Jubilee dropped the paper and launched herself at him, hugging him so tight his ribs creaked. "NO! You can't! What if you…you get shot…or…killed…or something…" She trailed off, and hugged him harder.

Logan hugged her back, his eyes filling with tears. She loved him so much she'd come all the way back here to tell him she understood why he'd done what he did. "Jubilee," he said gently, untangling her arms from their stranglehold on his neck. "Yer grown up. Yer gonna go back up ta Canada an' get married. Ya don't need me anymore. Nobody else wants ta hire me. Least I can do is go join the army, fight for the freedom of the other slaves like you."

"Papa, no," Jubilee wailed. "You could die! I don't want you to die! And Charles said he'd hire you if you wanted to come back with me!"

"What?" Logan narrowed his eyes.

Jubilee flushed and twiddled with a strand of her dark hair. "Charles needs a good stable manager. Before I left he asked me to ask you if you'd consider coming back north with me. You could take over the stables for him, and get paid wages, and I'd be able to see you all the time, every day if I wanted to! Please, Papa. I love Remy, but I love you too. I'd rather have both of you. I don't want to have to choose between you and him." Her eyes were filled with tears, and she looked pleadingly at him. "Please, Papa. Please!"

Logan was stunned. He'd never considered living with her. "This Charles…he'd do that?" he asked her, wonderingly.

"Yes! Papa, he even gave me extra money to get both of us plus our horses back to Canada! We could ship Thunder and Shadowcat back on the train East, and then to Canada. He really wants you to come, Papa, please say you will!"

"I'll think 'bout it," Logan said gruffly. "Hey. That black mare of yours is waitin' fer ya. Go on." He gave her a shove in the direction of the corral. She looked back at him, reluctantly, then went toward the gate where Shadowcat was waiting. He returned to the cabin, and the chores. He didn't want to think about leaving. He liked it here.

But later that night, as he lay awake in bed, he heard a soft sound coming from her side of the room. Sitting up, he saw her curled up on her bed, breathing evenly. In the light from the cabin's one window (he'd put that in shortly after she'd gone) her face was flushed, and her lips were moving. Thinking she was having another nightmare, he tiptoed to her bedside…just in time to hear her breathe the name "Remy…" She rolled over on her back, and the edge of her nightgown slipped up. Her privates were covered by her drawers, for which he was thankful, but in the pale light, he saw the patch of red, burned skin where the brand had been. She'd had the brand removed just to come see him.

His heart contracted with the thought of how much pain that must have involved, then swelled with pride at the thought of the courage it must have taken for her to submit to that painful procedure. She had guts, his little girl. And knowing the price she had paid to see him again, could he really tell her she had to go back alone?

What did he have here, anyway? His cabin, his horses, his things. But were these things really worth losing her forever? Would moving to Canada be so bad? The horses would be gone in a few days; and with them would go his livelihood, for however long the war lasted, which, for all he knew, could go on for years. What would he do, what would he live on? His flippant remark to her earlier about joining the army was just mere talk. He couldn't see himself killing another man because his commanding officer told him to. The cabin could serve as home to someone else; he could build another one when he got to wherever they were going.

And as that thought crossed his mind, he realized his mind was made up. He would go with her. He had lost a wife and daughter to Fate; he would be an ass now if he lost another daughter to his own stupidity and unwillingness to move. The preceding months of loneliness had shown him that. His home wasn't here; his home was wherever Jubilee was.

He returned to his bed, suddenly tired. His mind was made up; they'd leave. Now he would have to figure out how to get to Canada.

Well, there was time enough for that tomorrow.


	41. Preparation

Chapter 41:

Jubilee woke to the sound of coins clinking against each other. She yawned, stretched, and sat up, ruefully thinking how much softer the feather tick had been when she was sleeping on it, and saw Logan sitting on the floor next to a pulled-up floorboard. On the floor in front of him was more money than Jubilee had ever seen in her life. Not even Charles's envelope had held that much.

"Papa?' she asked as she got up and pulled her silk dressing gown around her shoulders. She slid out of bed and padded on bare feet across the sanded floor. "What are you doing? Where did all this come from?"

Logan turned to her and grinned sheepishly. "Ya didn' think that all the profits from sellin' my horses was goin' to feedin' ya, did ya?" he teased, tugging on a strand of her hair. She'd started wearing it unbound and loose when she wasn't doing chores, and he liked the way the long black waves fell to the middle of her back. "Ya hardly eat enough. I kept puttin' money aside, I figured as you grew up ya'd want girls' things, but ya never asked fer none, so the money just sat here an' kept pilin' up. I'm tryin' ta see how much I got here."

"Why?" Jubilee sat down next to him and stared at the piles of bills and coins on the floor.

"I figure I'll need somethin' ta start off with up in Canada," he said quietly, not meeting her eyes.

Jubilee gasped in surprise, squealed in pleasure, and then hugged him so hard he thought his spine would crack. "You're coming! You're really coming! Oh, Papa!" She kissed his cheek repeatedly, her face alight with happiness.

He captured her chin in his hand. "Hey. Look at me." She fixed her blue eyes on his, and he saw tears of joy shining in them. His voice was incredibly soft as he said to her, without a trace of his usual gruffness, "I love you. I haven't loved anyone since Annie and Alice died; I thought that was it. But then you came, and I figured maybe my heart wasn't dead after all. Then Remy took you away, and it felt like you took my heart with you. I could actually feel a pain in my chest when I thought about you. Then you came back here, and I realized that I love you, and I can't live without you. I want to see you every day. I want to watch you get married. I want to give you away, if you'll let me. I want to see you happy. And eventually I want to spoil your kids and watch them grow up. You've become my life, Jubilee; I can't just sit here and watch my whole life walk away from me. If I did that I'd be making the worst mistake of my life."

Jubilee leaned her head against his shoulder quietly. "I love you too, Papa," she said. "The whole time I was there, up in Canada with Remy, I kept thinking how much I missed you. Every time I ate one of Ororo's apple pies I wished you were there to share it with me. Every time I lay down in bed, I wished you could feel how soft it was. Every time I went to the stables, I wished you could be there instead of Andrew. And when Andrew switched me, I wished you were there to make him stop. I wished you were there to hold me and make the pain go away when I asked the doctor to take the brand off my hip. And when I finally got my freedom papers, I wanted so badly to show them to you. I came back here because I needed to see you again. I needed to tell you that I understood why you did what you did, and that I loved you. I never got to say goodbye when I left. And it hurt."

Logan swallowed hard on the lump in his throat. "It hurt me too, darlin'," he said huskily. "My heart kept telling me to go back out there, and tell you I was sorry." His voice broke. "I never meant it when I called you a whore. It hurt so much to say it, it hurt so damn much. But I thought the only way to keep you safe was to drive you away, to make sure you thought there was nothing here for you to come back to. I'm sorry I hurt you, Jubilee."

Jubilee kissed him. "I know, Papa. I know." They sat there, side by side, as the sun rose.

"Can I ask ya somethin'?" Logan said finally.

"Anything."

"Who's this Andrew who switched ya?" The growl was back in Logan's voice.

Jubilee laughed shakily. "He's the current stable manager. He told me that until my papers came in, I was still a slave, and I still had to obey him. He took a riding crop and hit me across the back of my legs for being rude."

Logan bristled. How dare—"What did the Cajun say 'bout that?"

"He told me that as soon as I crossed the border I was free. He told me to ignore Andrew and do what I wanted to. And if Andrew threatened to hit me again, I was to tell him and Charles."

"And did he?"

Jubilee laughed. "The next time he tried to get high-handed with me I told him that I was a free person. And because I was free, that meant I could call him out for insults done to me. He backed down really fast."

Logan made a face. "I don't think I'm going to get along with him."

Jubilee giggled. "Oh, I know you won't. Nobody gets along with him. That's why, as soon as you're there managing the stables, Charles is going to let Andrew go. The only reason he's still there is because they can't find anybody else who has experience with horses. Charles figures he'll give you the stud and gelding barn, and I'll take the mares and foals."

Logan sniffed. "Yer husband ain't gonna like ya hangin' around the barn so much."

Jubilee shook her head. "Remy's okay. Of course, he said when I'm pregnant he won't want me around them as much, but otherwise he's got no problem. He says at least I'm not as scared of horses as Jean is."

"How could anyone be scared o' horses?" Logan shook his head.

"Hey, I was scared of them once," Jubilee punched him lightly on his bicep.

"Yeah, well, ya had a reason," Logan said. "What about her?"

Jubilee shrugged. "I don't know. She's never said anything." She stood up. "Speaking of horses, I'd better go and get them fed and watered." She rummaged around in her chest for her dress, and Logan returned to his counting, keeping his head bent so he wouldn't see anything he shouldn't.

"Which horse are you taking?" Jubilee asked him later when he joined her at he paddock fence and watched the horses. "Where's Dark Star?"

"Killed by a wildcat 'bout a month after ya gone," Logan told her quietly.

She looked up at him. "Oh, Papa!"

"Hey, don't worry, Jubilee," Logan said, ruffling her hair. "He was an old horse anyway. And yer horse Thunder's a better mount anyway."

'What about Storm?"

"Buffalo an' I never did find that big horse of his, so I gave him his pick of my horses to compensate him fer the loss. Turns out Storm was the only one I had tall enough to carry him."

"Oh, Papa! And it was my fault, you should have given him Thunder, my horse, because I was the one who lost Buffalo's horse!"

"Thunder was your horse," Logan said softly, staring at the stallion in the middle of the field. "He was all I had left of you. Him and yer damn wolf. I couldn't give him away. Besides, it wasn't yer fault he got away. If Walbrook hadn't…stopped ya…you'd have found him yerself."

Jubilee shuddered. "I've tried to forget…but every time I think about it, I feel sick. Oh, God, Papa, it hurt so much, I passed out and he kept waking me back up…" She placed a hand to her mouth, going pale, then she turned and ran for the back of the barn. Logan followed her, and held her as she retched her breakfast up in the dust. "See what I mean about getting sick?" she said weakly, rising from her knees and heading off toward the well. Logan kicked some dirt over the mess and went to the well, drawing up a bucketful of water and holding it for her as she cupped her hands in it and drank, then washed her hands and face.

"Don't think about it anymore, darlin'," he said comfortingly. "Come on. I want to get some work done with a couple of them before tomorrow."

They sat down at noon for a quick, hurried dinner, then went back out to prepare the horses. The soldiers from the fort would be coming out the next day to claim them; Logan wanted to make sure each one was as well-trained and looking as healthy as possible. The judicial order had said that the owner of the horses would be paid fair market price for each horse taken by the army. The better the horse looked, the better the price he would get. He and Jubilee spent as much time as possible currying and brushing the horses. As the sun began to set, they went into the cabin, and Jubilee started to make supper.

Logan saw how tired she was, and frowned. "Sit down," he said to her, taking her shoulders. "Rest. Ya been away from all this work for too long, ya ain't used ta it yet. I'll make supper for both of us." She went to lie on her bed without comment, and he frowned. Why was she so tired? And she had thrown up earlier…It wasn't Walbrook, because she hadn't thrown up at all the few weeks she'd been in bed recovering from the horrific whipping, and she'd talked about it with him and Remy. A niggling suspicion grew in his mind, but he didn't say anything. She dropped into bed, tired, as soon as supper was over, and was almost instantly asleep. He took the dishes out, washed them, then put them away in the cupboard. He'd leave them here. If some traveler wandered by and wanted the cabin, they were welcome to it. He was glad he hadn't gone out hunting in a while; there was little food left in the cellars, and his salt, flour, and sugar supplies were pretty low too. He'd give the soldiers his chickens, pigs, and the cow and bull too. They could probably use the extra food supplies.

He went to bed, still wondering about her sudden tiredness and her sickness spells, and was awakened by her scrambling out of bed the next morning. She raced outside still in her nightgown, but never made it to behind the barn. She fell to her knees and heaved dryly there in the dust by the back door. Logan got her a cup of water from the well, and she leaned against him as she drank it. "I think I'm sick," she said finally, as she leaned against him weakly.

Logan helped her into the cabin and pulled his shirt over his head. He normally slept in pants, so getting up in the morning was quicker. "When did you start feeling bad?" he asked her, rummaging around in his medicine cupboard. He knew what was wrong with her; he just needed to find out when she'd started feeling ill.

"Soon after I left the mansion," Jubilee said, frowning. "Maybe a week after I left. I rode to the nearest town that had a railway station, and got on the train there. While I was there I started feeling sick after I ate. One of the other passengers told me that sometimes people get sick on trains, especially if it's their first time, so I didn't think much about it."

"Ya ain't sick," Logan said grimly, locating the packet of medicine in his cupboard. He swore, looking at it. He'd have to get more of this stuff. A lot more. He measured out a spoonful of the herbs into a cup, stirred it, and then handed it to her. "Drink that. It'll settle your stomach." She took it, sipped, and grimaced at the taste. "It tastes odd. What is it, Papa? Why do I feel this way?"

Logan grinned. "Yer gonna make me a grandpa."

Jubilee stared at him. "I'm…I'm…"

Logan grinned. "Yep. Looks like you an' the Cajun been busy!" He laughed at her uncomfortable look. "Let's get ya up ta Canada an' tell that Cajun he's gonna be a Papa."


	42. Leaving Again

Chapter 42:

The next day an entire company of soldiers came up to Logan's front gate. "Hey, Mister!" said the man in the lead, a tall, imposing man with blond hair bleached so pale by the sun it looked almost white. "We've come to collect your horses for the Union Army!" Snow punctuated the call with a loud bark.

Logan flung open the cabin door, yanking his shirt over his head. "Keep yer pants on," he grumbled. "Why'd you have to come so early?" He opened the front gate, to admit the cavalcade of soldiers, and then waved the man in front around the side of the cabin. "Horses're out back there. Let me show ya which ones ya can have." Snow continued to eye the men warily, and Logan, remembering the way Walbrook had looked after Snow had torn the man's throat out, ordered the wolf to sit and stay where he was. The wolf sat, eyeing the soldiers distrustfully.

The previous night Logan and Jubilee had cut Thunder and Shadowcat out of the herd and put them in a separate pasture, and chosen the tack they'd give the soldiers. Logan was only slightly mollified by the fact that they were leaving anyway; he'd kept the best tack for himself and Jubilee, and the oldest, dirtiest saddles and bridles were left. "There," he said, gesturing to the paddock. "Them's yer horses right there." The commander looked all the horses over and seemed satisfied, but one of the men, a little behind the commander, looked sharply over at the two horses in the other pasture. He nudged the commander and said something.

The commander said something back. The first man argued. Then the commander nodded, and the man came up to Logan. Logan bristled. This was the same man who had brought such blatant attention to his use of Jubilee almost a year ago. Logan hated him. "I was wondering if I could have that black out there," the man said, gesturing to Shadowcat.

"Nope," Logan said. "She's too small fer ya, an' anyway, she ain't mine ta give. She's my daughter's horse."

The man's eyes narrowed. "That little black haired, slant-eyed chick? She's a slave."

Logan growled low in his throat. "Not anymore she ain't," he growled. "She's a free woman now. The guy I sold her to took her up north, freed her, and offered ta make an honest woman outta her. We're headin' up there now so I can attend the weddin'."

"Papa?" and here came Jubilee, holding both packs. "I finished the packing. Should I saddle up Thunder and Shadow?"

Logan was about to tell her yes when the soldier spoke. "Hey, girlie. Your master here is saying you're not a slave anymore. Is that true?"

"That's Miss, sir, to you, and no, I am no longer a slave. I have been freed. I am also a Canadian citizen. I am here on a visitor's pass. I came to get my father so he can attend my wedding." Jubilee produced her papers. The soldier took them, looking suspicious, and scanned them.

The commander looked at the papers in the man's hand, then nodded courteously at her. "Glad you got your freedom, Miss," he said. "Sorry about the rudeness. We won't bother you again. My soldier here wants to know if you'll be willing to trade your black mare for another mare in the herd."

"The black mare is on loan to me by my husband, who is waiting in Canada for my return," Jubilee said sweetly but firmly. "The mare is his, she is not mine to give away or sell. Good day to you." She put the packs down in the dust, ordered Snow to watch them, and went off to the barn to get the saddles and bridles for Thunder and Shadow. The man made a sudden movement, as if to go after her, but the commander froze him with a look, and he turned away with a muttered oath and went into the corral to get himself a horse.

The commander dismounted from his horse. "We'll lead the horses into town," he said to Logan. "Mighty obliged. Thank you. Now how much would you say your horses are worth?" They settled in to haggle.

They finally settled on a decent price for the whole herd. It was less than Logan would have gotten if he'd sold them off individually, but it was more than he'd heard the army was buying horses for, so, all things considered, he didn't have much to complain about. "I'm headin' to Canada," he told the fort commander. "I ain't gonna be able ta take the pigs and chickens and cows with me. Ya wouldn't happen ta need em, would ya?"

The commander pushed his hat back on his head with a broad smile. "Mister, with all the extra men comin' into the fort, I sure could use some more foodstuffs," he said gratefully. "The cook's gonna be grateful. How many chickens and other livestock do you have?"

Logan took the man around, showing him the pens. The man nodded. "Yes, we'll take them all. Here…" and he handed Logan more cash. "For the livestock."

"I wasn't expectin'…"

"It's all right," The man said. "Saves me from having to haul in more supplies by train. And with your girl getting married, you're going to need the money. Take it." Logan pocketed the money with a smile.

The sound of raised voices from around the front of the cabin, and then a wolf's angry snarl quickened both men's steps. Logan growled as he saw what was happening.

Jubilee had been tacking up the horses; two of the soldiers, ones who Logan knew had molested her in the past, were hovering around her, whispering taunts. One man reached out and touched the front of her dress.

Jubilee jerked away from him, angry, but the second man behind her grabbed her arms and pinned them to her sides, and the first man, the one who had touched her chest, started to lift her skirts. Jubilee screamed in fury and lashed out with a foot, kicking his kneecap. The man roared and backhanded her. She went spinning toward the ground. Snow stood between her and the soldiers, growling and snarling, and looking quite ready to commit murder in her defense. Logan went to Jubilee.

The commander roared "Attention!" The two soldiers snapped rigidly upright. "How dare you molest a young woman! That is conduct unbecoming an officer…"As the commander continued to upbraid his officers, Logan held Jubilee as she retched her breakfast into the dust.

"I'm terribly sorry, Ma'am," the commander said gently, coming over to them. "They will be punished for this. I will flog them myself. Are you all right?" He looked distressed when he saw her heaving and retching.

"She's gonna have a baby," Logan snarled. "Her stomach ain't settled right now. What they did just made it worse." He handed Jubilee his handkerchief to wipe her lips.

The commander went to the well and drew a bucket of water, then dipped the ladle in it and offered it to her. Jubilee drank gratefully, rinsing the taste of bile out of her mouth, then stood slowly, clinging to Logan. The two soldiers watched as Logan helped her mount Shadow, grumbling a little, but their protests were silenced by the commander. "Mount up!" he roared at his company. "Mister, I offer myself as an escort to yourself and your daughter into town, and once there, I can have the army doctor take a look at her to see if she and the child she carries are all right and have not suffered any injury from their ill behavior."

Logan looked at Jubilee. She looked tired already, and the sun wasn't even high yet. He nodded. He wanted the doctor to look at her when they got to Fort Jackson.

By the time they got to Jackson, Jubilee seemed to have recovered a bit. The commander took them up to a room reserved for visitors, and allowed them to rest for a while. When he returned, he had a woman with him. "This is the doctor that takes care of the officers' wives," he said. Logan and the commander left the women to their business, and went out to the courtyard. "Again, let me say I'm sorry for my men's behavior," the commander said apologetically. "I have arranged for seats and stalls in the baggage car for you and your daughter, and her wolf, of course…" he hesitated. "The train conductor was most unhappy to hear that she had a wolf. He tried to insist that the wolf be left here…"

"Absolutely not," Logan said angrily. "She saved that wolf's life, and he's saved hers. If he can't travel on the train we'll ride all the way ta Canada if we have ta, but he's coming with us." He could still hear Jubilee's heart-wrenching sobs when she had said good-bye to Snow the last time.

"I told the conductor that the wolf can ride in the horse's car in one of the horse stalls," the commander said quickly. "Will that be all right?"

Logan nodded. "Yeah, he'll probably be more comfortable with the horses than with us," he said. 'Besides, them sleeper cars are too small fer three."

"Then that's settled," the commander said. "I paid as far as Independence, after that you'll have to go further on your own steam."

"Thank you," Logan said, shaking the commander's hand as the woman and Jubilee, followed by the wolf, came out to meet them. "Mighty obliged to you."

"Consider it an apology for the way my men behaved," he said. "I never held with the idea of slavery. And they had no cause to treat her like that, for all and she's a free woman now. Good-bye, and good luck to you all. The train leaves in an hour." He departed with the female doctor, and Logan turned to Jubilee. "Feelin' all right?"

She nodded, linking her arm in his. "The doctor said I'm fine. The sickness is normal. She told me to drink a lot of water, avoid wine, and rest often. She told me to take the train as close to Canada as possible, and when we started riding up to the border, to stop and rest often, and walk a little. The train's going to be the hardest part, she said I'm going to suffer from the train sickness, and that would make the pregnancy sickness worse, but she gave me medicine to help that. It'll make me awfully sleepy, though."

"Darlin', you can sleep the whole way there on the trains if ya want ta," Logan said. 'I just…I hate seein' ya lose yer meals, ya know? Ya need all that food fer the baby."

"I know, Jubilee sighed. "Believe me, Papa, I know. I hate throwing up. I can't wait till I get to Canada."

Snow was completely unenthusiastic about being stuck in the livestock car. Jubilee calmed him down as she tied his rope off to a ring in the wall used to tether the horses. "You have to guard the horses, make sure no one steal s them," she told him. He submitted, albeit with bad grace; he was, after all, used to being tied in the barn when Logan went to town for supplies. He finally settled down to sleep in the thick bed of hay in the corner of Thunder's stall.

They boarded the train, put their things in the sleeper car, and Jubilee had a light dinner of bread and cold meat that Logan had brought with him, then she took some of the medicine, and went to sleep. Logan sat in the car, watching Missouri slip by when the train got into motion. For one wild moment he was tempted to go back, to the ranch where he belonged, but a look at the girl in the bunk reassured him. The ranch wasn't home anymore. Jubilee was home for him now. Wherever she was, that was home. He settled into the sleeper bunk across from hers as the train huffed and puffed its way East.


	43. Canadian Home

Chapter 43:

"We're almost there."

Logan stirred from his half-asleep doze over the horn of Thunder's saddle. "Huh?" he asked her.

"We're almost there," Jubilee said, smiling sympathetically. Sunset had been hours ago, but she was too excited about going home and seeing Remy that she hadn't wanted to stop. Logan, despite his tiredness and exhaustion, sensed that she wanted desperately to see the Cajun again, and so hadn't insisted that they stop, although his butt hurt from so much riding and he thought he was going to walk permanently bow-legged for a week. He slumped over the saddle horn, not bothering to try and guide Thunder anymore. The big horse was tired too, and simply followed Jubilee and Shadowcat.

The pair of girls, however, were frisky. Shadowcat knew they were close to home, and Jubilee had to hold her to a walk; she wanted to run for her stable and her feed. Jubilee was too excited to stop; she wanted to get home and see Remy and then crawl into bed.

"There," she said, reining Shadow up and pointing through the trees. "If you look, you can see a little of the house from here…"

Logan squinted. His tired, gritty eyes could just make out a white plantation-style mansion sitting on what seemed like an awfully steep hill. "Yeah, I see it," he grumped. "Can we get a move on 'fore I fall off the dang horse?"

Jubilee laughed at him, but urged Shadow into a fast walk. Thunder ambled after her at a slightly faster pace than he had been using, and Logan woke all the way with a lurch and grabbed for the reins as he nearly fell from the saddle.

Jubilee turned onto the smooth wide avenue that led up to the house, and Logan straightened up in the saddle with an effort. He couldn't meet all these fancy people slumped over the saddle horn! He did his best to look awake as Jubilee dismounted in front of the colonnaded front door. She tugged the rope hanging from a bell beside the door.

Logan was trying to figure out what the bell was for when two things happened simultaneously. A small boy, maybe ten or eleven, came bounding up out of the darkness, and the front door opened. The figure at the door was backlit by the bright lamps in the hall, and he couldn't see who it was.

Jubilee addressed the little boy first. "Bobby, we've had a hard ride here," she said. "I figured you'd still be up, though. Think you could take them in and rub them down, water and feed them? Don't worry about grooming, you're probably too tired."

"Sure, Miss Jubilee," said the lad, taking the reins from Logan's hand and Jubilee's hand. Thunder was so tired he didn't even go through his usual snap and snort routine with the strange hand now holding his reins. Bobby yawned prodigiously and led the horses off across the gravel drive into the darkness.

"Jubilee?" said the figure in the door. "Is that you?"

"It's me, Ororo," Jubilee said, blinking her suddenly watering eyes. "I've come home."

The figure stepped back, indicating that they should step in, which they did. Then she closed the door and pulled Jubilee in her arms. "We were so worried, child," she whispered, hugging the younger girl tightly. "Remy was almost out of his mind, hoping you had reached your father safely--"

A door at the end of the hall opened, and Logan looked up at the hiss of breath. Remy was standing at the end of the hall, staring as though he couldn't believe his eyes. "J-Jubilee?" he finally croaked weakly.

Jubilee released Ororo, and ran down the hall. "Remy!" She squealed. Remy was still frozen in shock when she barreled into him at top speed, and staggered a little as she flung her arms around him. "Remy, oh, God, I missed you, I love you so much, oh, Remy…" She trailed off, covering his face with kisses as she cried in happiness, and Remy brought his arms up to touch her, as if not quite believing that she was there. "Jubilee," he breathed. "Jubilee, it is you…mon Dieu, I thought I'd lost you…" And suddenly they both were crying. He cupped her face in his hands, wiping at her tears as she wiped at his, and for that moment, there was no one but them in the world. He brought her face up to his, pressing his lips against hers, and their lips locked in a kiss. Remy took a step back, taking her with him, and they vanished back into the doorway he had come out of. Seconds later the door closed.

"It looks like she's forgotten all about you," said the woman. Logan turned to look at her for the first time, and his breath caught in his throat.

She was tall, maybe a head taller than himself, with long silver hair tumbling in waves past her waist and light blue eyes that twinkled. Her features were sculpted, with high cheekbones, full lips, and very white teeth that shone whitely when she smiled. He stared for a long moment. "You're beautiful," he stammered, unable to think of a single thing to say. Then he cursed himself. He sounded like a love-struck schoolboy.

"Why, thank you," said the woman. "I assume you are Logan, Jubilee's father?" She extended a hand in greeting. "I am Ororo. I'm the cook and housekeeper." Logan took her hand mechanically, still staring at her. She laughed. "Come. I'm sure you're tired, let me show you to a room." She turned and headed for the staircase, and Logan followed numbly, shaking his head. He was just tired. Maybe tomorrow he would be able to put together a coherent sentence to say to this woman. Still, as they climbed the stairs, he couldn't help but stare at the long silver waves of her hair.

"The mansion's set up fairly simply," she said as they reached the top of the stairs. "There are three floors, and a single hallway extends down the length of each floor. The stairs are in the middle. The right side of the hall from the top of the stairs is the servants' wing; the left side of the hall is the family wing." She paused, thinking a moment, then said, "Let me put you in the room next to Jubilee's in the family wing." She swept down the hall, her white cotton dressing gown whispering along the cool floor as she walked.

"But I ain't family," Logan said.

Ororo stopped in front of a door. "Jubilee is family, to us," she said firmly. "And because you're her father, you are family too."

Logan couldn't think of a single thing to say, pinned by those incredible ice-blue eyes, and stood there for a moment tongue-tied. "I ain't really her father," he finally managed to get out.

Ororo studied him, her eyes warm with amusement. "But you are. In everything but blood, you are her father. She doesn't consider you anything but her father. You've never been a Master to her." Her voice was soft. She turned away from him and opened a door to a darkened room, walked in a few steps, and lit a lamp from the candle she'd been holding. "This will be your room," she said. "Will this be suitable?"

Logan looked around. A chest of drawers, a large! bed, a framed piece of glass against one wall that was painted black on the other side so that he could see his reflection, and a tall ceramic container in one corner with a lid. He pointed to the container. "What's that?"

"A chamber pot," Ororo said smoothly, showing no embarrassment at the sudden flush over Logan's cheeks. "The maids will empty it every morning and clean it." She saw his look. "The outhouse is too far for you to be able to reach it if you have an emergency. There is one in your room, and there are also small closets so equipped on every floor of the mansion if you are not able to reach your room."

Logan walked across the floor, tempted by the sight of the bed. "Jubilee tol' me all 'bout these,' he said. "Said it was so soft…oohh," he groaned as he sank onto a cool, inviting softness. The straw tick at home—no, he corrected himself, back in Missouri, this was his home now—was nowhere near as comfortable as this was. "Think I'm gonna go ta sleep now."

"Not in your boots and clothes," said Ororo firmly. She started tugging at his boots.

"Don't," Logan grumbled, half-asleep already. "Not proper…f'r a lady..t'see…a naked…"

"Oh, hush," Ororo said gently, dropping his boots beside the bed and reaching for the buttons on his shirt. "Nothing I have not seen before." She got his shirt off, but mercifully left his pants alone. Grabbing his feet, she shoved the bedcovers aside and pushed his feet under them, then pulled the rest of the blanket over him. Logan was already drifting into sleep when she picked up the candle…so he might have been imagining the gentle brush of lips against his forehead.

He was considerably more awake the next time he saw her, but still found himself as tongue-tied as he had been the previous night. He had woken early, unable to sleep, and went down the hall and stairs, looking for the kitchen. He paused in the hall, trying to detect the smells of cooking food or at least coffee, when a new voice, definitely masculine, said "And you are Jubilee's father."

He turned and saw the bald man walking up to him. The man's step was firm, sure, and his brown eyes were creased at the sides with smile lines. Those lines deepened as the man said, "Come. Everyone will soon be up and around for breakfast; this may be the only time I have to get in a private word with you." He waved Logan into a large, sunny breakfast room in front of him. "Oh, Ororo," he said when Logan and himself had both taken seats, "Would you bring me a cup of tea, please. Earl Grey. And maybe a cup of coffee for Mr. Logan?"

"Black," Logan got out around the swelling in his throat. In the early morning sun streaming in through the huge windows (how did they make so much glass?) her hair turned into a halo of white fire around her head. She was beautiful, and he bit his lip again as all coherent thought vanished from his mind. She smiled and disappeared through a door.

"Jubilee brought you here last night, I understand," Charles Xavier said. "Ororo greeted me with the news this morning. I trust your journey was uneventful?"

"Yeah. Jubilee was rushin' up here ta make it before the snow fell. Said it'd be pretty damn near impossible ta get here after snow started fallin'."

"Winters can be harsh up here, Mr. Logan," Xavier said, turning in his chair as Ororo came in with a tray. "Ah. Thank you, my dear." He took his teacup from the tray, and Logan took the cup of coffee she held out to him. It was china, he noticed, white china. He hadn't eaten off a china plate since he'd left East for Missouri. Ororo was about to leave when Xavier stopped her. "If breakfast is under way there, perhaps you might have a moment to spare? Please sit and talk with us."

"Of course," Ororo sat down easily in another chair.

"I assume Jubilee told you about my offer," Xavier said, after a few more moments of small talk. Logan figured that the man was just being polite; he didn't seem like the type to like small talk. Logan liked that. He himself was blunt and direct.

"Yeah, she told me that ya needed a new stable manager," he said. "She said the guy you got now don't know how to handle horses."

"Everyone has their own way of handling horses, and no one way is wrong or right," Charles said evenly, and Logan nodded once. "However, Andrew is universally disliked by all the stable hands and the other servants. My son Scott does not like him either. Having you here solves two…no, actually, three problems for me. The first problem is that I need someone who can handle horses. I have one of the finest breeding stables around; my father bred horses, and I inherited my love of horses from him. The quality of the horses has been going down in recent years, because of poor handling and ill-chosen breedings. Do you feel capable of handling the horses?"

"I can handle 'em," Logan said. "What's yer next problem?"

"Making my children happy." Logan stared at Charles, whose face broke into a smile again. 'Remy is my child, as much as Scott, is. The fact that we have no common blood makes no difference. He was a scared, brutalized, orphaned child when I bought him and brought him north to set him free. He is now a young man I am as proud to call my son as I am of my biological son Scott. Jean is Scott's wife; she is also like a daughter to me. Jubilee…" Xavier paused. "She is like a daughter to me too. She reminds me of Scott's mother sometimes. And the way she makes Remy happy makes me happy too. But I could sense she wasn't happy, and Remy told me that she had left you under the impression that you did not love her, and it weighed heavily on her soul. I wanted to see her truly happy. So I asked her if she would bring you back. Your presence would fill her heart and make her happy, and Remy would be happier too. I am pleased to see you've accepted--"

"Charles--" said a female voice as footsteps entered the dining room, and Logan turned. A handsome young man walked in, followed by a woman with the brightest red hair Logan had ever seen. Logan's heart twisted as he saw her eyes. Annie's eyes had been that shade of green. "Oh, you have a guest…"

"Oh, please, sit down," Charles said. "This is Jubilee's father, Mr. John Logan." Logan extended a hand to the young man and woman. "Mr. Logan, this is my son, Scott, and my daughter in law, Jean."

"Pleased to meet you," Scott said automatically. Jean gave Logan a warmer smile when she took his hand, and Logan's heart twisted. She even smiled like his Annie.

They were interrupted by Remy, half-carrying Jubilee. "Jean, Ororo, something's wrong with her, she woke up real sick," he said worriedly. Jean jumped up with an exclamation, but Logan frowned at Jubilee. "Ya ain't told him yet?"

"Tol' me what?" Remy paused in his hovering.

"I…I hadn't had a chance yet, papa," Jubilee said weakly. "We've only just gotten up."

"Tell me what?" Remy looked like he was about to explode.

Logan grinned wolfishly. "Yer gonna be a Papa."


	44. Happily Ever After

Chapter 44:

It took some wrangling. Logan didn't want to live in the mansion with a lot of other people; nor did he want to sleep in the bunkhouse with the other stablehands. Finally, he went with Charles to the local land registrar's office and bought a small parcel of land, about a half acre, adjoining Charles's stables. There he and the men of the mansion erected a cabin like the one back in Missouri, with a little fence around it. Betsy and Thunder grazed side by side companionably in the little plot of land, and Logan could keep them apart from the rest of Charles's horses. Snow, unwilling to live in the big mansion (his presence scared the maids; they screamed and ran when they saw him coming, At first Snow had been delighted, chasing them all over the mansion; but the game soon wore thin, and he soon took up residence in the cabin with Logan, and played with the boys in the stable.

Andrew was dismissed, to everyone's great relief. The stables ran smoother without him, and Logan was universally liked by the other hands. Billy loved him, followed him around constantly asking questions, and soon Bobby followed suit. Logan, who at first missed Jubilee's happy chatter and ceaseless questions, soon found that two boys made a suitable replacement, and spent hours with the two small boys and the wolf (and various other stablehands, including John) talking about the Indians he'd known, the battles he'd seen them fight with the soldiers, and the buffalo hunts he'd witnessed and taken part in. He even showed the boys how to make bows and arrows out of branches and sinew, and taught them how to shoot and ride bareback like the Indian youths did. In turn, the boys almost worshipped the ground he walked on. Logan had to admit to himself privately that it was like having sons of his own.

He was polite to everyone in the mansion, though a little cool toward Scott. When Scott had found out that Jubilee was pregnant, he had been extremely sniffy about it, and his conversation had been full of veiled references to Jubilee's morals, as regarded her getting pregnant before she and Remy were married. Logan had enough of the grumbling one day and faced the younger man. "Look here, Scott. Ain't like my girl gone and gotten herself pregnant on purpose, it jus' happened. It was God's will that she have a kid, an' He don' need ya ta tell Him it's right or its wrong. She a'ready feels bad enough 'bout not bein' married yet; so lay off her. An' in case ya didn' notice, it takes two ta make a baby. So if yer gonna blame her, ya might as well blame the Cajun fer it too." Scott was silent on the subject for a while afterward, and he and Logan remained a little cool toward each other for a while.

Remy was ecstatic. He and Jubilee hurried off to the office in town and got a marriage license, and a week later, in front of all the mansion's residents, a minister blessed the couple and joined them in marriage. Logan stood to one side, the father of the bride; Ororo was a bridesmaid, and Henry and Scott were groomsmen. Jean and Ororo had spent weeks sitting in a locked upstairs room sewing the dress; and Logan had to admit the thing was beautiful. A high waist pulled the waistband of the skirt up above her natural waist, thereby hiding the slight bulge around her middle where the baby was getting bigger. The ceremony was beautiful. Everyone cried, and Logan even saw Charles wiping a few tears from his own eyes.

His gift to Jubilee and Remy was the use of his cabin for a week. He moved into the mansion for the duration of that week, not only to give them privacy but also for his own convenience. Ororo slept in the family wing near the room Logan had slept in when he first came, and the nearness of the two rooms made it easy for him to slip into her room in the evenings. At first it was just to chat; Logan was curious about her.

She had been a slave on a plantation in Virginia. She had been born to a kind master who kept her with her parents and also allowed his slaves to learn to read and write. Ororo had stayed with her parents until she was sixteen…and then her Master had died, and Ororo and her parents went to the auction block. They were sold to another master' Ororo was bought by a man who wanted a maid. He had used Ororo for other things, too, though he never branded her as Jubilee had. Ororo had tried to run away; she had been caught and whipped. She didn't go into details; but late one night Logan had woken to hear her crying in her room. She had been asleep when he slipped in to wake her, and the sagging bedcovers had shown Logan the white scar lines on her chocolate skin, from her shoulders to her calves. And later, when they had progressed to touching and kissing in the dark, he had felt the front of her body seamed by white, raised, ridged scars. Her whipping had been bad, worse than anything Jubilee had ever taken. And Logan knew he loved her in that instant.

His love and respect for her had grown over the months, and seemed to be returned in kind. She took to spending the nights with him in his cabin, until one morning Remy asked them point blank if they were going to be getting married anytime soon. Logan was startled; he hadn't even thought about it, but after he'd thought about it for a while, it seemed to make sense, so he went and spent some of his money on a pair of gold rings for them, and in a private wedding much like Jubilee's and Remy's, Logan found himself repeating the vows he'd made to Annie with another woman, a woman who was about as opposite to Annie as he could get. But she made him happy, and he made her happy, obviously. And Jubilee, who had been worried about him all alone in his cabin, stopped fussing now that he had some companionship. After that they both started sleeping in his cabin. For a while Ororo continued to get up early in the mornings and hurry up the lane to the mansion to fulfil her duties as cook and housekeeper.

Then early one winter morning, while it was still dark, she was on her way up the road to the mansion when a passing carriage ran into her. It had taken some time before anyone noticed she was missing, and it was Logan who found her crumpled on the hard, frozen ground, unconscious. Her leg had been broken just above the ankle, by a man too drunk to see the woman in the narrow lane in front of his horses. Henry did what he could, but a leg broken that badly would never be whole again. Afterward, Charles hired another woman to take over the housekeeping duties; although Ororo was still in charge, she no longer had to get up early in the mornings.

And months later, both Logan and Ororo were woken from a sound sleep by Bobby's furious pounding on the door of the cabin. "It's Miss Jubilee!" he shouted, his breath coming in silvery vapor pants. "She's having her baby. Miss Jean needs Miss 'Ro!"

Logan had walked into the mansion with Ororo and took his place with the men downstairs as Ororo hurried up the stairs to Jubilee's room. Remy paced the room frantically as the faint sound of screaming filtered down to them. "I'll never touch her again," he swore anxiously as the night wore on. Then most of the morning.

It was early afternoon before Ororo finally came downstairs, holding a tiny blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. "It's a boy!" she said, weary but happy, and she placed the tiny bundle in Remy's arms. Logan and Charles and Henry crowded around to peek at the little bundle.

The baby had an astonishing crop of auburn curls on its head. As the four men watched, he opened his tiny mouth, yawned prodigiously with toothless gums, and then opened brilliant blue eyes to look into his father's watering brown ones.

"He got his mot'er's eyes," Remy said. "And he got his mot'er's nose, too!" He reached in, touching the small button nose gently.

"Jubilee wants to name him Charles Logan LeBeau," Ororo said softly.

Logan stared at her. 'She wants to…name the…baby…after me?" he repeated, not quite believing his ears.

"And Charles," Ororo said, but her voice was warm.

"I t'ink dat a fine name," Remy said happily. "What you t'ink, Logan?"

Logan looked at the little boy in Remy's arms and smiled. "I think so too," he said.

END

Well, that's it for this one.

I'm terribly sorry about the glitch, and the fact that the wrong version went up. I'll start rewrites tomorrow (the rewrites will cover mostly the latter half of the book, from chapter 25 up. If you're interested in seeing how the second version differs, I'll be posting the rewrites as I did the story; one chap each day. I know there have been some lapses, but you gotta cut me some slack; I have three kids (a 1 year old, a 2 year old, and a 35 year old (yes, he's my kid too. Anybody reading this who's married will understand!)

According to the front page of X-Day (www.xday.info) they'll start accepting entries and submissions on Nov. 1st. 'Last One Standing' will be entered in the 'Novels' category; if you like it, create an account, read the other submissions, and vote for it if mine really is the best. Please. (don't vote just because you like it; please be objective. If I do win it will be all the more fulfilling if I win it honestly!)

Other entries include:

How Far………Novellas

Shape Shift…...Novellettes

I'll Be There (short version)….Long Shorts

When She Cries…..Ficlets

If you liked any of the above, your vote will be muchly appreciated. And even if you don't want to create n X-Day account and vote, go there to read the stories. There are many excellent writers, some professionally published ones, who write for the competition. There's also a great fan art and fan websites competition too, not just fan fiction.

Thanks in advance to anyone who does choose to vote for me, and I hope you all enjoyed the novel!

----Jaenelle


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